A Study In Skills
by Little Box Of Secrets
Summary: There're people in this world. We're sure of that much. Some; ordinary. Some; extraordinary. Read as they befriend each other becoming a force to be reckoned with, both against their own kind and those who'll never understand what it is to be Skilled.
1. Prologue

**A Study in Skills**

_Prologue_

There are people in this world. Of that much, we are sure of. Some are ordinary. And some are extraordinary.

Some are born with such basic lives planned for them. Mundane jobs, with mundane families and friends, just a standard life of work and dull emotion.

Others are born with a much more thrilling life ahead of them. They are born with Skills, some into happy families, some into unhappy families. Some have friends, some don't. They may have the same jobs, but it is never dull. Nothing is for them, as life itself for them is a vibrant array of colour and feelings and the strangest of happenings.

But they all share a common factor.

They are Skilled.

With what, an onlooker may never know.

Befriend them, and you may just find out.

But watch as they befriend each other and become a force to be reckoned with, both against their own kind and those who will never understand.


	2. Chapter 1

**A Study In Skills**

**The Beginning**

Sitting in the chair in the therapist's office, Phoenix Moss sat quietly, back straight, legs tucked to one side, ankles crossed, hands folded in her lap. Her walking stick - a dark wood, stick with a stubbed handle - sat next to her, leaning on the chair that was meant to be comfy. She just found it annoying. She had found most things annoying since she had come _home_.

"How's your blog going?" Asked the woman opposite her. In her meeting with her boss - after explaining that she couldn't work with them anymore, and that she would have to be sent back - he had said that due to the nature of her dismissal, she would have to attend a series of therapy sessions; they would end when the therapist saw they weren't necessary anymore. Phoenix hated her therapist and frequently showed it.

"Good." She told her in her blank, emotionless voice, giving no details what so ever.

"You haven't written a word, have you?" The therapist was quite stubborn though, and insisted on being annoyingly friendly.

She cocked her head to the side, looking the woman opposite in the eyes. "You just wrote 'still has trust issues.'"

"And you read my writing upside down. Do you see what I mean?" She replied calmly, trying to get some sort of reaction out of the woman. Phoenix had given not so much as a shudder, whimper or shout since she came to the therapist a month ago. But she was not one to quit easily. "Phoenix, you're a soldier. Now it's going to take time for you to adjust to civilian life, and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you."

The woman just sat there, expressionless as always as she replied, "Nothing happens to me."


	3. Chapter 2

**A Study In Skills**

**The Knowing**

Walking through the park, Phoenix thought back on the past few months of her life; how she had tried to help a fallen comrade, only to end up being taken hostage by the enemy; how in the month or so that they had her prisoner, they had broken her beyond repair, forcing her to destroy a part of herself to survive; blinding light when her own side found her again, only to find a shadow of their former friend. Seeing the hurt in their eyes should have hurt her in turn, but she had felt nothing, knowing what was to follow.

She had been sent home to a stoic twin brother who offered her a hand to shake, which she took. They were both Skilled, and he knew what she had done as well as why. He had asked her what she wanted to do now she was back, and she had just replied with "nothing." He understood though, and had suggested that she stay in London for now, though she should get a place for herself, as he only had the one room for himself. That was how she found herself now; wondering the park, both exercising her sore leg, and thinking what to do about a flat; she would be kicked out of her one the next day.

As she passed a bench seating a rather large man, she heard her name being called.

"Nix? Nix Moss!"

She turned to see who it was calling her, and what they may want. She was approached by the large man who looked oddly familiar. He had a beige coat on, covering a white shirt and black trousers, though not covering the hideous green, yellow and red striped tie he had on.

"Stamford, Mike Stamford." He introduced himself. "We were at Bart's together."

As she remembered, she nodded slowly. "Yes, sorry, yes. Hello Mike." She said, offering him her hand to shake. "I didn't recognise you there for a second."

"Yeah, I got fat!" He said brightly. "I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?" He didn't seem to notice the empty eyes that looked back at him. It made for a nice change.

She just looked at him carefully, raising a fine lined eyebrow slowly. "I got shot." She said, gaining a rather awkward look from Mike.

Sitting on the bench again, a cup of coffee each, they talked, having decided to catch up.

"Are you still at Bart's then?" She asked. Her and Mike had once been friends when they were at school together and they fell into an easy pattern.

"Yeah, teaching now. They're all bright, young thing's, like we used to be." Oddly enough, she couldn't ever remember being bright, always paranoid someone would find out her big secret. "God, I hate them!" They chuckled, though hers sounded hollow, the sound having been forced with a practised tongue. "What about you? You staying in London now?"

She shook her head. "No. I cant afford London on an army pension." Though she could easily fix that. She chose not to though, wanting to earn the money. Her mother had always said she was awkward. She remembered briefly missing her mother after she had died; _not anymore. _She frowned at the emptiness she felt.

Mike saw it as relating to the subject though. "And you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the Nix I used to know."

"Maybe I've changed…" She said quietly.

"Couldn't Will help?" Asked mike, referring to her twin.

"No, he has his own problems at the moment." She replied not elaborating.

Mike heaved a sigh. "Flat share or something?"

She felt the ghost of a smile pull at her lips and found the sensation unfamiliar. "Come on." She said, turning to look at the man that used to be her friend a long time ago. "Who would have me as a flat mate?" Mike just chuckled, looking away as he did so. "What?"

"Well, you're the second person to say that to me today." The man explained.

An idea struck her then. "Who was the first?"

Sherlock glanced up as the two people walked into the lab.

He took in the sight of the short woman; long, wavy black hair fell down to her elbows, but tied back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, leaving her face free of the thick, dark locks. She had incredibly pale skin, contrasting brightly against the black of eyeliner and mascara, and the bright green of her eyes. She moved with a limp, though she had no trouble walking in the heeled boots she had on her feet, giving her an extra four inches in height. She looked toned under her black trousers and fitted black shirt that was showing through underneath her long, open, military styled coat, with a high collar and two strips of large, silver buttons, five on one side, seven on the other, two going up onto the collar. She held herself with a straight back, walking with a slight march to her step, taking in all of her surrounding with a single glance. _Interesting, _he thought, turning back to his work.

"Bit different from my day." She said, checking out the new room.

Mike just chuckled. "Oh, you've no idea."

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." Said the man at the desk.

Mike stepped forward. "And what's wrong with the landline?"

"I prefer to text." The new man said looking up at Mike. Phoenix caught the colour of his eyes, and her own widened slightly in realisation. She had met a few Skilled in her life, and every single one of them had something strange about the colour of their eyes; hers were a bright, bold green, her brothers were just as bright and bold, but stark blue. This mans had the same brightness, though they were more of a frosty blue. They were somehow softer than hers and Will's, but they held the same intense boldness.

She knew what he was.

"Sorry, it's in my coat." Said mike, not sounding sorry at all.

She took out her blackberry, holding it out to him. "Here, use mine."

He looked up to her and their eyes met in a bold stare off that lasted an infinite fraction of a moment. "Oh, thank you." He said finally, getting up and walking over to her.

"This is an old friend of mine, Phoenix Moss." Mike introduced her.

Taking the phone from her, he said, "Nice to meet another." They both knew what he meant, even if Mike didn't.

"Likewise." She replied, watching him carefully.

"Another?" Asked mike, not knowing what they were talking about.

"Person of intelligence." Replied Sherlock smoothly, not even missing a beat.

Just as Mike was about to reply, a brunette woman walked in holding a brown cup. As she passed Phoenix, she smelled it was coffee. This was only confirmed by the man.

"Ah, Molly, coffee, thank you." He said, following up with a question. "What happened to the lipstick?"

She seemed to get a bit flustered before replying, "It wasn't working for me."

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement; mouth's too small now." He said, turning away, walking back to his work, taking a sip of his coffee as he walked.

She replied with a small mumble of "Okay" and left again.

"How do you feel about the violin?" Asked the man randomly.

"If played well, it can be enjoyable. Why do you ask?" She replied, giving him a question in return.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes I don't speak for days on end. Would that bother you?" He asked giving her another glance.

"Thinking is healthy, and unless I wanted you to answer a question, no. _Why?" _She thought she knew where he was going, but wanted to be certain.

"Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He said simply, given her a look that meant that they would have to have this same conversation on a different topic.

She gave him an empty smirk. "Flatmates?"

"Yes." He replied, getting up to grab a long coat and putting it and a dark scarf on. "I have my eye on a nice little place in central London, together we should be able to afford it. We'll meet there, tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Got to dash, I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

She briefly wondered why on earth he would have a riding crop in the mortuary, but seeing him making a quick escape she called out to him. "So that's it, then?" He carried on walking, but turned, making a wide but small circle, turning to face her again. She noted that he was half a foot taller than she was; and she had heels on. "We've only just met and we're going to look at a flat together?"

He looked at her, seeing that she was different in more than one way; she seemed somehow damaged; broken. He frowned slightly internally. "Problem?"

"Just a couple; I don't know the address, nor do I know your name." She replied, knowing that she should at least think about the offer.

He smirked and replied, walking backwards easily, towards the door, speaking as he went. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He told her, ending with a wink, earning a raised brow from her. He turned to Mike. "Afternoon." And he was gone.

A moment passed after the strange man left, and Phoenix made a small, contemplative "Hm."

"Yeah," Said Mike, catching her attention. "He's always like that."

Limping down the street, trying to walk as straight as she could, Phoenix saw the door of the flat, and approached it just as a cab pulled up, Sherlock Holmes stepping out of it.

"Hello."

She held out her hand to him. "Ah, Mr Holmes." She greeted, as he took he hand. He noted that her handshake was quite firm.

"Sherlock, please." He requested.

"Then you must call me Nix, everyone else seems to." She replied.

"Nix it is." He half smiled.

"This is great spot," She said, looking around the street. "Must be expensive."

"Mrs Hudson - the landlady - she's given me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out." He explained, sounding as though it really was nothing.

"You stopped her husband being executed?" She asked, wondering how he could have done it.

He smiled down at her coldly. "Oh no." He said. "I ensured it." She just pulled a face saying _fair enough._

At that moment the door opened, revealing a mature woman in a purple dress. "Sherlock!" She greeted him, hugging the man in question.

"Mrs Hudson, Doctor Phoenix Moss." Sherlock introduced them.

"Nice to meet you." They both said.

"Shall we?" With that, they went inside.

Sherlock jogged up the stairs, two at a time, but he waited for Nix as he got to the top, before opening the door to reveal a living room. She first saw the boxes and bricker-brack that covered the room, but under it all was a nice room.

"Well, this could be very nice." She said, looking around into the kitchen area that had a table full of what looked like science equipment. "Very nice indeed."

"Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." The man replied. She was about to suggest a clean up, but noted the lack of dust on the boxes and items. She caught herself just in time it seemed, as the man carried on speaking. "So, I went ahead and moved in."

"Hmm. That's a skull." She said obviously, pointing to the object on the corner of the mantle. He looked at it for a second.

"Friend of mine." He looked up to her. "Well, I say friend…"

Mrs Hudson came in then, pottering about. "What do you think then, Doctor Moss? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two."

"Well, of course we'll be needing two." Nix replied, as though it were obvious.

"Oh, don't worry, there's all sorts round here!" She said. _Well, that's going to be so true soon_, Nix thought. Moving to the kitchen, Mrs Hudson tutted. "Oh, Sherlock!" She sounded like a doting mother scolding a child. Sherlock looked up from his unpacking, to see what she was talking about. "The mess you've made!" The man just ignored her though.

Phoenix lowered herself into a chair, trying to be careful, but just ending up dropping into it with a painful but suppressed groan. She held her knee; she had done the best she could with it when she had gotten back, but it had still ached terribly. Sherlock was still moving about, and she decided to strike up a conversation.

"I looked you up on the internet last night."

"Anything interesting?" He seemed wary of what she might have found.

"Found your website. _The Science of Deduction_." She told him, remembering the name.

"What did you think?" She saw he seemed to be expecting some sort of praise, but she just gave him a disbelieving look, making him frown slightly at her.

She thought she should explain. "You said you could identify a software designer by his tie, and an airline pilot by his left thumb?" Her voice went up at the end, asking if she got it right.

"Yes." He said. "And I can read your military career in your face and your leg, your family life in your jewellery and your phone as well as your Skills in your eyes."

She suddenly became very defensive, straightening up in her seat and bringing up her face slightly. "How?"

Mrs Hudson chose that moment to interrupt however. "What about these deaths then, Sherlock? Thought that would be right up your street; three exactly the same."

"Four." He corrected as he walked to the window. "There's been a fourth; and there's something different this time."

The landlady frowned. "A fourth?"

A man ran in the room then, slightly out of breath and looking at Sherlock expectantly. He didn't disappoint. "Where?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." The newest arrival replied.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me otherwise." Sherlock spoke quickly.

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"Well, this one did. Will you come?" The new man sounded like he knew the answer already.

Sherlock thought for a second. "Who's on forensics?"

"Anderson." The other man replied somewhat reluctantly.

Sherlock just looked away in undisguised disgust. "He doesn't work well with me." Nix was just sat in the chair, silently watching the verbal tennis between the two men.

"He wont be your assistant!" Said the man by the door, sounding annoyed at the delay. Sherlock just let out a long sigh. Sounding much less sure, the man tried again. "Will you come?"

Despite his apparent lack of an assistant, Sherlock answered, "Not in a police car, I'll be right behind."

"Thank you." Said the man, sounding very grateful. Throwing the two women a polite smile he left again.

As he did, Sherlock jumped and turned in mid air, knees bending and arms raising in triumph, grinning as though he had the best day ever planned. "Brilliant! Yes! Four serial suicides and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas." He muttered, making Nix wonder briefly what his Christmases must be like. "Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food." He called to her as he went to get his coat.

"I'm you landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." She said.

"Something cold will do!" He replied. "Nix, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. don't wait up!" And with that, he was gone again. _Does he ever just stop? _Nix wondered.

"Look at him, dashing about!" Mrs Hudson said turning to her. "My husband was just the same. But you're more the sitting down type, I can tell. I'll get you a cup of tea, dear, you rest your leg."

At the mention of her leg though - the one thing that annoyed her more than anything - she snapped. "Damn my leg!" She shouted fiercely, soon followed by the thought that it may not have been the smartest thing to do. "Sorry. I'm so sorry. It's just sometime this bloody thing…" She trailed off, smiling falsely and hitting her aching leg with the stick in her hand, resulting in a flash of pain shooting up the infuriating limb in reacting, a shot of pain that she ignored completely, showing no sign of it's existence.

Mrs Hudson just nodded understandingly. "I understand dear, I've got a hip."

Nix sighed, picking up a paper that was lying on the side. "Cup of tea would be lovely, thank you."

"Just this once dear, I'm not your house keeper."

"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got them." She added, thinking she may as well do the job properly.

"Not your house keeper!" Came the reminder.

She looked at the front page, seeing a photo of the man that was not long in the flat; DI Lestrade. She was brought out of her numb musings however by a low voice, making her look up sharply.

"You're a doctor." Sherlock stood in the door way. "In fact, you're an army doctor."

She pulled herself up with some small effort. "Yes."

"Any good?"

"Very good." She said unabashedly, remembering using her Skill to help the wounded as well as her knowledge.

"Seen a lot of injuries then." He said, talking over and pulling his last glove on. "Violent deaths."

The reminder of the war sent a small spark of life through her; it was all she had known for several years, and she had found that she had missed it since she came back. No matter how much she told herself that it wasn't a good thing, that it really wasn't healthy, she couldn't deny it either.

"Well, yes." She said in a low voice.

"Bit of trouble too, I bet." Sherlock saw the spark of life ignite in her eyes for the first time, and was trying to tempt her further, testing her reactions.

"Of course." She replied, voice a little tight. "Yes. Enough for a life time, far to much."

"Want to see some more?" It was all she needed to hear.

"Oh god, yes." With that, Sherlock turned and they made their way down the stairs quickly, Sherlock smirking as he went.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out." She called to the landlady.

"Both of you?" She asked from the hallway.

Sherlock turned and walked over to her. "Impossible suicides? Four of them? No point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He exclaimed, kissing her cheek.

She just tried to suppress a smile, patting him on he arm. "Look at you all happy, it's not decent."

"Who cares about decent?" Came the man's reply. _Good point, _Nix thought. _I'll have to remember that one. _"The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!"

Out in the street, Sherlock though up his hand with the shout of "Taxi!"


	4. Chapter 4

**A Study In Skills**

**The Skills**

As one pulled up, they got in, Sherlock telling the driver where to go.

Sherlock pulled out his phone as he sat down, but after a few seconds felt the gaze of the woman beside him watching him. He glanced up, then out of the window.

"Ok, you've got questions…" He started.

"Yeah. Where are we going?" She asked, making him frown. _Thought it was obvious_, he thought.

"Crime scene. Next?"

"May I ask?" She asked, and he knew what she meant.

"Energy manipulation." He answered in advance.

"Of?"

"Anything." He replied smugly. "And yourself?"

"I don't quite know how to explain it, even after thirty years of it."

He thought for a moment, then threw caution to the wind. "Show me." He said quietly.

She felt the ghost of a smile cross her face at the chance, the feeling still foreign on her features. She checked the driver wasn't looking, then held out her right hand, nails even and curved, relatively long and a shiny black.

Holding her hand palm up, she held it flat. Sherlock watched with curiosity and deep interest as a small bump made its way up from the centre of her palm, its surface smooth, yet delicate looking, fragile, like a fine glass. As the bump raised, he saw that it was actually a ball, about the size of a golf ball, manifesting itself from her hand. As it's shape was whole, he saw that it held some form of green gas, the same colour as her eyes.

When the bottom was rounded, it floated a few inches above the hand, something manifesting in the smoke. She felt her eyes slip in their focus as she concentrated on the exact details of the object.

Sherlock saw the smoke move and become a shape, then changing colour and becoming what looked like a smooth metal coin, perfectly circular and no bigger than a fifty pence piece. Curling her middle finger, the bubble burst and the object fell into her hand. The whole process had taken ten seconds; and she had been trying to drag it out for the man observing.

Using the same hand, she twirled the object, observing her work, then placed it on her thumb nail, flicking it over to the silent man in the back of the cab. He caught it and examined it, turning it over from flat side to the other, seeing that it was actually engrave with a single word in an elegant script.

_Sherlock_

"Impressive." He complemented her.

"Thank you." She replied, having dropped her hand to allow the fingers to slide into place in-between the others on her other hand.

"And I assume from the inscription that it's not just coins?" He asked.

"Anything." She replied, mimicking his smugness from earlier.

"Hmm." He sounded, making a note to talk a little more about her Skill later. "But you still have questions."

"Yes, I do. Why are we going to a crime scene? And how did you know all those things about me before?" She was still wary of him, wondering how much he knew, and if it would be a problem.

"What do you think?" He asked, wanting to see how much she could piece together.

"Well, the man who came to the flat was a DI; I saw his picture in the paper. So if he is with the police and they're coming to you for help, I would say you're a consultant." She voiced in her usual, empty voice.

"Consulting Detective." He told her. "The only one in the world, I invented the Job."

There was a slight pause. "And..?"

He sighed. "When the police are out of their depth-"

"Which is usually, they come to you. I guessed that bit." He frowned slightly at the interruption. "And it is obvious that you're not some amateur, you're far too good for that. But I was referring to my second question. What do you know about me, and how did you know it?"

He looked over to her for a second, seeing her eyes were empty, just as they had been before. He sighed, looking back out the window; he liked the little spark in them. "You have no parents, but you have a brother, I would say younger, judging by the independence you show, along with the way you are used to entertaining others, making sure they understand what's happening. You're on good terms, but you don't go to him for help, maybe because you feel guilty about being a burden. Possibly another reason, there's something I'm missing at the moment. Something recent, I'd say something that happened while you were overseas. You were shot, invalided home. Furthermore, your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid." He looked over to her, looking her in the yes. "And I think you know about the little tell with the eyes."

"But _how_ did you know?" She didn't look surprised, merely wary of him again.

"Your phone showed the name Will as the most used contact, there were no parents names. No mum or dad. The ring on your finger is plain, but expensive, and engraved on the inside, can't quite make it out though. There are two, small gems set into the metal, side by side; a bright blue sapphire, and a bright green one. The green one is the same colour as your eyes. That says that the ring was from someone important, expense says you were close. If it were from a lover you would most likely have it on either your left or right ring finger, but its on your middle finger. So from a family member, unlikely it's a friend. So, sibling, the frequent name on the phone says Will; not a huge leap."

"And my being a doctor?" She asked after a second, taking in all the information.

"Yes, an army doctor, invalided home from duty." He looked over and saw her expectant look. "Your words when you entered the lab; said trained at Bart's. And the way you hold yourself, straight back, almost marching constantly, and looking at everything you can to determine if there is a threat; Army." He said, not bothering to be gentle about it. She found she preferred it that way.

They were silent for a moment, and Sherlock waited for the explosion of anger, the inevitable disassociation. But it never came. "You certainly are no amateur, are you?"

"No, I'm not." He bristled at the thought, looking out of the window again, watching the streets pass by.

After a few minutes, he heard her again. "That was amazing, by the way."

Sherlock just looked a little puzzled. "Do you think so?"

"Of course it was." She insisted, nodding at him.

"That's not what people normally say." He told her.

"What do they normally say?" She asked, wondering how they could say anything else.

He turned to look at her with a small smile. "Piss off."

She just chuckled in a hollow manner, more out of habit than anything. Though she found that she was lighter than usual; not as numb as she was.

"Tell me," He requested as they pulled up to the crime scene, sectored off with police tape. "Did I get anything wrong?" But he sounded as though he doubted it.

_Well, I hate to burst his little bubble there, _she thought. "Several things actually. Will is my twin, and the older of the two of us." She started, counting off his mistakes on her fingers as she went. "I did go to him for help, but he doesn't have the room for me to stay there. He also understands what happened, and knows what I need right now. My therapist is a stupid woman, I only go because it's mandatory. She doesn't know anything about my leg, or why it hurts - again, Will does."

He pulled a sour face, getting out of the cab, having paid the driver as she spoke but he had a feeling there was something else she wasn't mentioning. She followed after him, so he spoke quietly, so as to not be heard by the nosy police force. "And?"

She looked up to him, looking him in the eyes. "I don't feel. At all."

He frowned at her, stopping to look at her, peering into the depths of her eyes, watching every muscle of her face to see any signs of emotion; he found none. "To do with what happened?" He spoke lowly, watching her for reactions that he knew she wouldn't give. No embarrassment, fear, shock, sadness or even guilt. Only the same guarded look.

"Yes." She gave honestly. "But that is another story for another time and another place."

He glanced around, seeing Donovan mutter into her radio. He sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist finding out more later. He looked back at her, her green eyes empty and looking up at him.

"Let's go then."


	5. Chapter 5

**A Study Of Skills**

**A Crime Scene**

As they walked towards the tape, Nix thought of something she hadn't before. "What am I doing here?"

"You'll see." He said mysteriously.

"No, seriously Sherlock. What am I doing here?"

They were interrupted however by a woman in a dark grey coat with very frizzy hair. She held a radio in her hand and a snide look on her face.

"Hello, Freak." Nix wasn't sure who she was talking to for a moment, then realised, frowning at the disrespect; another thing that had annoyed her about today's society. There was so much disrespect for everything it seemed.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock replied in a bored tone.

"Why?" Came her child like reply.

Sherlock gave her a look, wondering why she always had to be so difficult. "I think he wants me to take a look."

Nix smirked slightly at his patronising tone, but it soon washed away at the woman's childish games.

"Well you know what I think, don't you?"

"Always Sally." Said Sherlock, lifting up the tape and walking under it, letting it drop behind him. "I even know you didn't make it home last night." They had a staring match for a moment, before Nix got bored and moved forward, only to be stopped by the obnoxious woman.

"Er.. Who's this?"

Sherlock replied before Nix could. "Colleague of mine, Dr Moss. Dr moss, Sgt Sally Donovan. Old friend."

The woman looked up at him in disbelief. "How do _you_ get a colleague?" She turned to the doctor in question. "Did he follow you home?"

She sighed with all the drama she seemed to be causing. "Maybe I should just…"

"No." Came the final word from Sherlock as he lifted the tape for her to walk under it.

Sally lifted the radio to her mouth, looking annoyed. "Freak's here, bringing him in."

As they walked towards the building, they saw a man in a blue forensics suit come out, face challenging and defiant.

"Ahh, Anderson. Here we are again." Said Sherlock, sounding almost as though he regretted seeing the man.

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" Anderson reminded Phoenix of the rookies that had tried to become bullies in the first few weeks of training; trying to be tough, but no one really listened to their crap. They hadn't lasted long surprisingly.

"Quite clear." Came the tight answer which soon turned into something that had an edge of smugness to it. "And is your wife away for long?"

"Oh don't pretend you worked that out, somebody told you that." Countered Anderson, who Nix was really starting to dislike.

"Your deodorant told me that." Said Sherlock.

"My deodorant?" Questioned the annoying man, taking the bait.

Sherlock just grinned manically, eyes widening as he informed them all animatedly. "It's for men."

"Well of course it's for men; I'm wearing it!" Came the obvious answer.

"So's Sgt Donovan." Said Sherlock, the implications crystal clear. Nix just looked between them, still wondering her reason for being here. Anderson turned to look at Sally, Sherlock giving a loud sniff as he did so. "Oh, and I think it just vaporised. May I go in?"

Anderson immediately went on the defence. "Now look, what ever you're trying to imply…"

"I'm not implying anything." He said, walking past the two people, Nix following him. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat and just _happened_ to stay over." Getting to the door, Sherlock turned round to face them. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." Anderson paled at his words, a look of guilt flickering in his eyes. Sherlock just smiled in response to his victory.

Nix followed him, not looking at either person, and soon found herself in a small room that looked like where the police had set up shop.

"You'll need to wear one of these." Sherlock told her as they walked in.

Standing at a table, DI Lestrade was suiting up in a suit identical to Andersons, though he looked a little puzzled. "Who's this?"

Sherlock didn't look up, but replied. "She's with me."

The DI looked to the detective then. "But who is she?" It was as though she wasn't even there.

"I said she's with me." Repeated Sherlock in a hard voice, leaving no room for adjustment in the situation.

Nix grabbed a suit, leaning her stick against the table as she suited up. "Aren't you going to put one on?" She asked.

Sherlock just gave her a don't-be-stupid look, to which she rolled her eyes. "So where are we?" He asked.

"Upstairs." Lestrade replied, wandering over to the stairs in question, Nix having changed surprisingly quickly. "I can give you two minuets."

"May need longer." Said Sherlock. Nix just looked up the spiral stair case, thinking that the place could do with a good dusting and possibly a wipe down.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson, according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." He finished in a grim tone.

"Poor kids." Said Nix lowly.

Getting to the right floor was not an easy feat for Nix, but she did it, only suppressing a groan of pain once or twice. Going into the room, her eyes soon found a mousy haired woman, laying face down in the centre of the bare room.

"My god…" She muttered, eyes focusing a little more.

"You alight by there?" Asked the DI, looking as though he had seen too many people throw up at a crime seen.

Nix just nodded. "It's just….so much pink." She said in a horrified voice. Sherlock felt the corners of his lips twitch.

The three of them stood at the door for a few seconds when Sherlock suddenly broke the silence. "Shut up."

Lestrade looked up to see the detective looking at him; Nix just watched the two men in mild curiosity. "I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking." Came the childish reply. "It's annoying." Nix just let out a dark yet still hollow chuckle, Lestrade looking at her. Whether in an attempt to get some back up or to shut her up, she didn't know, or care.

Sherlock inched forward carefully, noting the engraved _Rache_ on the floor boards by the woman's damaged nails. The nails on her other hand were practically perfect though.

Nix watched the tall man work; running a gloved hand across the woman's back, taking something out of her pocket, running a hand under her collar, and checking her jewellery, taking off the wedding ring at one point.

Sherlock smirked, getting up.

"Got anything?" Asked Lestrade, though sounding like he knew the answer.

"Not much." Sherlock replied, turning to the door, only to see Anderson leaning against its frame.

"She's German." Nix raised an eyebrow at the man. "_Rache_. It's German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us…" He was cut off by Sherlock closing the door in his face.

"Yes. Thank you for your input." He said, looking at his phone.

"So, she's German." Concluded Lestrade.

"Of course she's not." Said Sherlock, voice bored, attention still on his mobile. "She's from out of town though, intending to stay for one night, before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious."

"Sorry. Obvious?" Nix questioned, wondering how he got all that. Lestrade didn't question it just yet though, preferring to stay on the subject.

"What about the message, though?"

Sherlock just ignored him though. "Doctor Moss. What do you think?"

The question threw her for a moment. "Of the message?"

"Of the body." He explained. "You're a medical person."

"We have a whole team outside." Protested the DI.

"They wont work with me." Dismissed Sherlock, still looking Nix in the eye. She just stared back blankly.

"I'm breaking every rule letting _you_ in here-" He was cut off though.

"Yes. Because you need me." Proclaimed Sherlock, turning his icy gaze to the man, who froze.

"Yes, I do." He said after a second, deflating slightly. "God help me…"

"Doctor Moss." Nix looked back to the taller of the two men, humming in short reply. Sherlock looked expectant and she turned to Lestrade.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." He said as though he could do nothing else.

Nix moved forward, hearing Lestrade move outside, telling Anderson to keep everyone out for a bit. Nix kneeled down beside the body, tucking her blasted leg under her with her hand, finding herself once again wishing she knew the cause for the pain she felt, laying the stick down next to her.

"Well?"

"What am I doing here?" She asked the man crouching down on the other side of the dead body.

"Helping me make a point." He whispered, looking over to the door.

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent." She reminded him.

"Yeah, but this is more fun." He replied, looking a little insane.

She pulled a face that clearly said sort-of-but-not-really. "There is a woman lying dead here."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you would go deeper." He said. _Obviously this is how I will be spending my evening, _she thought.

Sighing, she took a look at the woman on the floor, lifting up her hand, and sniffing by her face. As she did this, Lestrade walked back in.

"I've never seen a death like it." She told them, frowning slightly. She hadn't done any proper tests but she didn't understand the information before her at all. "There doesn't appear to _be_ a cause of death, but I can smell some form of drug on her."

"You know what it was, you've read the papers." Sherlock told her.

"Well, you can't believe everything you read." He gave her a look and she carried on. "…but she could be one of the deaths, yes, the fourth."

"So?" Sherlock encouraged.

"Some form of strong knock out drug, but it's not easy to OD on them." She told him.

"Two minuets I said, Sherlock." Interrupted the DI. "I need anything you've got."

Sherlock looked up from his crouch. "Victim is in her late 30's. Professional person, going by her clothes." He got up, Nix following slowly, leaning heavily on her stick. "I'm guessing something from the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink." He gave her a look and a ghost of a smile before carrying on. "Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night; obvious from the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?" Asked the DI, both him and Nix frowning in a lack of understanding, though his was deeper, laced with confusion.

"Yes." Answered Sherlock quickly, moving on again. "She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers, but none of them knew she was married." He looked around the room, as though taking in every bit of dust.

"Oh, for god's sake! If you're just making this up…" The DI didn't believe him, but Nix looked back to the body, looking at what Sherlock had when he first came in, lifting up an eyebrow at how the man had seen it before anyone else had.

"Brilliant…" She muttered, though neither man paid attention to her.

"Her wedding ring!" Exclaimed Sherlock, going to stand by the dead woman, motioning as he spoke to demonstrate and prove his point. "Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring; state of her marriage, right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside; that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what, or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover, she'd never sustain the fiction of being single for that long, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

"Absolutely brilliant, but how did you get Cardiff?" Sherlock looked to Nix at her praise, seemingly shocked by its place again.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" He asked.

"Not obvious to me." Answered Lestrade. Sherlock just huffed and looked back to Nix, who raised an eyebrow in expectancy.

Sherlock just looked back and forth between them for a second. "Dear god, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." He looked sad at the thought, then shook himself slightly. "Her coat; it's slightly damp, she's been in heavy rain in the last few hours, but no rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp too; she's turned it up against the wind. She has an umbrella in her pocket, but it's dry and unused. Not just wind, strong wind - too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay over night, so we know she travelled a decent distance, but not more than two or three hours worth because her coat hasn't dried."

"And there has been strong wind and rain in Cardiff, which fit's the distance criteria, if she were to take the train." Threw in Nix, getting a bit of a taste for it.

"Exactly." Said Sherlock.

"That's fantastic!" She proclaimed, lips smiling slightly in wonder.

"Do you know you do that out loud?" Informed Sherlock lowly.

"Sorry, I'll shut up." She apologised, not wanting to put the man off.

"No, it's…fine." He replied with a sparkle in his cold eyes.

The moment was broken however by the DI. "Why do you keep saying suitcase?"

Sherlock whirled around, searching the room again. "Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing Rachel?" Questioned Lestrade.

"No, she was writing an angry message in German." Muttered Nix sarcastically, getting more comfortable around the two men to be herself a little more, rather than the straight back army doctor she had been for a such long time.

"Of course she was writing Rachel - no other word it can be." Supplied Sherlock. "The question is; why wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How do you know she had a suitcase?" Asked Lestrade.

"Back of the right leg." He explained, pointing to her leg. "Tiny splash marks on her right heel and calf, not present on the felt. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size - woman this clothes conscious - could only be an over night bag, so we know she was staying one night. Now where is it?" He crouched down again, making further examinations. "What have you done with it?"

The DI just looked down, arms folded. "There wasn't a case," He said casually.

Sherlock turned to look at him, seeing he wasn't lying; they hadn't found the case. He ran through the building shouting. "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" He released his hold on his senses as he did so, reaching through the house with his Skill, searching as he did so. He reached the same conclusion as Lestrade shouted after him moments later.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade walked out of the room, looking over the balcony to see Sherlock stood on the stairs, eyes gleaming with interest; the madman was ecstatic.

Sherlock however couldn't see how they didn't understand it. "They take it themselves, the chew, swallow the pills themselves! There are clear signs even you lot couldn't miss them!"

Nix had followed Lestrade out of the room only to see Sherlock running down the stairs, shouting "It's murder, all of them! I don't know how. But they're not suicides, they're _killings_."

"Serial killings?" Nix asked.

"Yes! Love a serial killer - always something to look forward to." The man muttered, descending a few more stairs.

"Why are you saying that?" Asked Lestrade, though Nix thought it was more for the record than him actually wanting to know.

"Her case!" Was the reply. "Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?" It seemed Nix was not the only one who had sarcastic tendencies. "Some one else was here and they took her case." An epiphanius look came over the madman on the lower level. "So the killer must have driven her here. Forgot the case was in the car."

"Hotel? Could have left the case there?" Suggested Nix.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair!" Nix threw him an understanding look. "She colour coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking…" He let the statement hang, having a thought about something.

"What?" She asked him. He just stood there, hands in front of his face, eyes wide and saying "Oh" repeatedly. He finished his train of thought with a sharp clap. Lestrade recognised this as a brilliant moment for the man and jumped right in.

"Sherlock? What is it?"

The man in question however just smiled, waving his hands around a little more. "Serial killers, always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We don't have time to wait." Lestrade told him irritably.

"Oh, we're done waiting!" Declared Sherlock, running down a few more stairs. "Look at her_, really look! _Get on to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"

"Of course, yeah." Lestrade seemed to realise what he was saying and quickly added at the top of his voice, "But what mistake?"

Sherlock appeared at the bottom of the stairs again, leaning on the banister and shouted up. "Pink!" Then he ran off again.

Nix frowned and noticed that people were starting up the stairs again. She quickly looked back into the room. Seeing the scene again, she thought about what Sherlock had said. Suddenly it clicked.

She chuckled slightly, shaking her head. "The man is a genius…"

She turned away, meeting Lestrade at the bottom of the stairs in the set up room. She started to take off the suit. "Sherlock's right you know, they did make a mistake."

Lestrade looked at the woman. There was something about her that he couldn't put his finger on; something not quite right. Almost like she was empty. It unnerved the Detective Inspector. "What do you mean?" He hoped she wouldn't be another Sherlock Holmes, he really did.

She pushed the suit to the floor, picking up her bad leg and lifting it up out of the suit. She picked up the suit and put it on the side, folding it quickly before doing so. "The killer took the case, yes?" She asked, talking him through it. She got a nod and carried on. "And this woman colour coordinates her entire self…" She let him make the connection himself, only waiting a few seconds as he thought.

"So the case will be pink, like the rest of her!" He said.

"Exactly. But does he really think he can find it because it's pink?" She asked.

Lestrade just laughed. "I take it you haven't known Sherlock long. If anyone can find the thing, it's him." With that he went back to work, and she went out of the front door, heading the way they had arrived.

As suspected, Sherlock had run off, leaving her on her own in an unknown place. Sighing, she made her way to the end of the street, spying a dark corner where she could bubble up a map. However, in the street, she was met with a slightly smug looking sally Donovan.

"He's gone." She called to the woman.

Nix just turned around, expression as blank as always. "Well, I'm sure he's old enough to look after himself now." She said in reply.

"You're not his friend you know. He doesn't have friends." The curly haired woman said. "So who are you?"

"I'm nobody. I've only just met him really." Nix said honestly. She didn't see the point in lying anymore, about anything. Though she had enough common sense to keep her Skills hidden.

"Sure." Said Sally, a seemingly knowing smirk on her face. "But I'll give you a bit of advise; stay away from Sherlock Holmes."

"And why would I do that?" Replied Nix. She may not know the man very well and he may be completely insane, but he was Skilled, and she trusted her own people. Very few were actually bad, simply confused on how to live in the right way. Of those she had met, they always seemed to be either very eccentric or very boring, but usually outcast from society one way or another. It used to make her sad, but not anymore. Now she just saw it for the way it was, but it didn't mean she would change what she had been doing for years. She would still defend them; even the mad ones.

"Because he's a psychopath." Sally said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Nix disagreed, but Donovan carried on. "And psychopaths get bored. He isn't here for the money, he doesn't get paid. He likes it, little too much in my opinion."

"Well thank you so very much for your opinion Sally." Said Nix, not missing a beat and making sure her voice was as flat as could be. "Now if you'd like to give me back a few minuets of my life, want to tell me where I can get a cab?"

Sally just narrowed her eyes, lifting the tape for the limping woman. "Try the main road, its not far."

"Thank you." Replied Nix, not bothering to look back at the woman, just walking forward toward the main road.

"Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." She heard as she walked away, though she just ignored the ignorant woman.

She hadn't taken many steps though when the street's payphone started to ring.

_Weird, _she thought, _I didn't even know they could ring._


	6. Chapter 6

**A Study in Skills**

**A Conversation**

A few minuets later, she had reached civilisation again, though it didn't make her any less paranoid.

She had ignored the phone, but walking down the street, it seemed the ringing was almost following her.

She had gone past a fast food shop, the phone ringing out. She stopped, looking at it for a second or two. She saw a worker approach the devise, but just before they touched it, the phone stopped ringing.

_Just your mind playing tricks, phone calls can't follow you_. Though she wasn't convincing anyone it seemed. She shook her head, walking on again, trying to hail a cab.

A few more steps and she passed a payphone again; the red box ringing just as she passed it. She stopped, turning to look at it. _What the hell, _she decided, walking into the booth, picking up the phone.

"Hello?" She asked into the receiver.

"There is a security camera on the building to your left." The voice sounded posh and sophisticated. Nix also thought it was trying to be intimidating, though it wouldn't work on her. The most scared she got was a big adrenalin rush and severe paranoia, but she didn't actually feel the fear. "Do you see it?"

"Do I want to?" She asked, purposely not looking.

"Do you see it, Doctor Moss?" Cue a rise in paranoia for the woman in the booth.

Turning, she saw the small eye on the building. "Yes, I see it."

"Good. Watch." Watching, she saw the small devise turn away from her. She started looking around, taking in the faces of everyone in the street, but the voice spoke again and she concentrated once more. "There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?"

She murmured in affirmation, finding the second camera, watching as it too turned away.

"And finally, at the top of the building on your right." _He may be creepy, but he gives decent instructions_, she found herself thinking as she watched the third camera turn away.

"Well, I have to admit that this little thing you got going on for you is certainly impressive." She complemented.

The voice appeared to have a smile behind it now. "Get into the car, Doctor Moss." . As he spoke, a sleek black car pulled up next to the phone booth, the back door opening for her. "I would make some form of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you." And with that, the man hung up.

Nix stood there, looking quite puzzled for a second, wondering what she should do. The man was obviously trying to intimidate her but it didn't work. She wasn't stupid though; she knew he would be a dangerous person. She thought of her brother, but found once again that she felt nothing. It was a sensation she was still getting used to.

Sighing, she put the phone back in its place, got out of the little red box, and made her way to the car.

Inside she found a smartly dressed brunette, focused completely on the small mobile devise in her hands. After a few minuets of driving in silence, Nix spoke up.

"Hello." She said, looking over to the other woman.

The woman looked up for a split second smiling. "Hi." But what caught Nix's attention was the woman's eyes; a swimming pool of chocolate, shining with a bold life that she knew instantly. The woman was Skilled.

"What do you do then?" She asked boldly, not afraid of being blunt about it. _Why bother_, she thought.

The woman just chuckled. "Let's just say that gravity is not the boss of me."

"Interesting." Said the paler woman. "So who is your boss then?"

"A very powerful man indeed." She replied, giving no new information.

"And I suppose there is no point in asking where we are headed, is there?" Nix asked, raising an eyebrow at the woman.

The woman on the receiving end just smiled politely. "No."

A few minuets later, the car rolled to a stop. Nix waited a few seconds before coming to the conclusion that she should be getting out now.

Opening the door, she saw they were in an abandoned storage space, possibly underground. There were shelves with various shapes on them,, but she couldn't make out what they were from the distance.

A man stood in the glare of the headlights, one leg crossed over the other, leaning on an umbrella. "Have a seat, Phoenix." He said, indicating to the chair in front of him. His voice matched that from the phone.

Her leg was aching rather insistently, but she was a solider, no matter where she was soldiering about. She would bear it, if only to defy the man in front of her.

She ignored his suggestion. "You know, I have got a phone. Surely you could get the number. I mean, very clever and all that, brilliant in fact, but you could have just called me, on my phone." She let a little sarcasm seep into her tone, limping forward. She really hated her disability sometimes.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place." She noticed that he said the man's name a certain way, though she couldn't quite place it. The man carried on though. "Your leg must be hurting you. Sit down." It was not a suggestion any more, more of a command.

She just gave him an empty, half smile. "I really would rather stand, Mr…?"

He looked at her for a moment, ignoring her as she had done him. "You don't seem very afraid."

She may have told Sherlock - a man she had not known long - but she would not openly tell this man. She didn't trust him as much, if at all; and she always trusted her instincts. She went with a different truth. "You don't seem very scary."

The man just chuckled, drawling out a "Yes…." He then turned mocking, looking her in the eye. She thought it might unnerve some, but it only made her more untrusting. She was missing something. "The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" He stated it as thought it were fact, but it only made her think in reflex; _I'm not stupid._ As though seeing her thoughts, he smirked slightly. He turned serious then. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I barely know the man." She told him. "I met him recently through a friend." She found that vague details would probably be best with him.

"And since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Should we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" _He knew the details then_, she thought.

"We'll be sure to send you an invitation, if I could just get your name." She told him persistently. A name would help her a great deal; she had a little trick up her sleeve to find out more about the man, but she needed a name.

"Persistent aren't you?" He said with a small chuckle.

She was getting bored again now, though the little thing she was missing still niggled at the back of her mind, eating away at the nothingness. "Who are you?"

"An interested party." He stated, giving nothing away.

"Interested in Sherlock? Why? I mean sure, he's an interesting person, but there must be another reason, otherwise you wouldn't have gone to all this trouble." She explained, the boredom starting to mix with the sarcasm and emptiness in her tone.

"To avoid Sherlock; this is no trouble at all." He assured her with another threatening smile. She suppressed an eye roll.

"I take it you're not friends." She said, trying to get the man to elaborate.

"You've met him. How many friends do you imagine he has in his little bubble of his?" At the mention of the word bubble, she started paying more attention. A dangerously powerful man who didn't seem to get along with her new potential flat mate should not really know about her little secret.

"About five, I would guess." She said in an offhanded manner, still trying to convince herself it was just a coincidence, but deep down, she knew it was highly unlikely.

"I am the closest thing to a friend Sherlock Holmes is capable of having." He informed her.

As he did, she noticed something else, though she wasn't sure what. It was just a gut feeling she had. A thought that something about the situation was familiar, though it resembled nothing about the events from the war. But she knew it was there; she always trusted the little feelings she got about things like this.

She was missing two things; two things she needed to know.

"And what would that be, pray tell." She said sarcastically, the boredom clearing up when he had mentioned the little bubble comment before.

"An enemy." He replied, not missing a beat.

"Is that so?" She asked, wondering how the consulting detective could have such a powerful enemy. _What on earth did he do?_

"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic." He said. Nix thought he seemed fond but just filed it away for later, thinking that it would be more useful to find things out now, go away, think about it, then speak to Sherlock about his arch-enemy practically kidnapping her.

She just raised an eyebrow at him, smirking slightly. "Well thank god you're above all that eh?" It just got her a somewhat playful glare. She had pin pointed what was slightly wrong with the man down to his face, though she couldn't quite determine what exactly was not quite right about it.

Just then, her phone beeped and she reached her hand into her pocket, pulling out the disruptive devise. She glanced down to see a message from Sherlock himself.

_Baker Street._

_Come at once_

_If convenient._

_SH_

"I hope I'm not distracting you." Came a slightly sarcastic voice of the man in front of her, making her look up to him again, putting her phone away again.

"Not at all." She offered politely.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" He asked of her in the same voice; talking about such things as though they were as common as the weather.

"Forgive my saying so, Sir." She said in a falsely pleasant voice. She had been told by strangers she was creepiest when trying to be nice, so she had simply stopped it. Now seemed like an appropriate time for such actions however. "But I hardly think that it's any of your business."

"It could be." He told her.

She gave a wide smile, forcing her eyes to appear as friendly as possible. "It _really _couldn't."

The man quickly moved his gaze to a small book he had just pulled out of his inside pocket of his jacket and she thought she should feel some small amount of victory for winning this round. She inwardly sighed as the numbing void was the only thing to show.

"If you do decide to move into, um…" He checked the little book. "221B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful some of money on a regular basis to ease your way." She discovered that his words made her a little lighter; he knew nothing about her really. Not her extent, nor her emotions.

"And why would you be willing to do that, I wonder." She said, getting bored again. He knew nothing of real importance and so no longer held her interest.

"Because you are not a wealthy woman, my dear." He told her.

"Let me rephrase; _what would you want in return_, I wonder." Her mind was wondering to food now, contemplating something green and some water. She enjoyed water, detesting sugar.

"Information." He replied seriously. "Nothing indiscreet, nothing you'd feel…uncomfortable with." He gave her another smile, and she searched his face, thoughts refocusing on what was wrong with the man; she knew it was staring her in the face. "Just tell me what he's up to."

"And why would I want to do that?" She asked, trying her best to put across some from of smug defiance, hoping it appeared genuine. If he didn't know all that much about her, then she would like to keep it that way.

"I worry about him. Constantly." Her mistrust was back again, thinking the man looked a little deranged. The wrongness was even more pronounced, but she couldn't for the life of her work out what it was. The man was just _not right!_

"That's nice of you." She said, forcing her tone back to it's up beat tone that it had once held. Her eyes searched his and she caught something; it was defiantly his eyes, but he looked down before she could find anything further.

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned." She didn't know whether he was actually being a little shy about the topic, or if he was just hiding his eyes, seeing that she was searching them. "We have what you might call a… difficult relationship."

"Oh, of course." She assured him in a sarcastic manner. Will used to say that she was far too sarcastic, but now it was the only thing she could do socially with out too much effort. _Practise makes perfect, I suppose._

Her phone decided to interrupt them again at that point.

_If inconvenient,_

_Come anyway._

_SH_

She rolled her eyes out of more habit than anything; it seemed like the appropriate thing to do.

She looked back up to him, face as blank as always. "No."

"I haven't even mentioned a figure." He lightly protested, though she suspected his heart wasn't really in the matter.

"No." She looked him in the eye again, noting something different; they were an awfully odd colour. Cold yet fresh blue flecks in a sea of brown. She recognised the pattern, but she couldn't remember where from.

He smirked. "You're very loyal, very quickly."

"No." She said simply. "I am simply not interested what so ever."

His face turned slightly grim and he looked as though he was about to do something he didn't particularly want to do. "Trust issues, it says here." She simply raised an eyebrow at him, contemplating on whether or not he was the type to believe everything he read. "Could it be that you've decided to put your trust in Sherlock Holmes of all people?" He looked up to her, and it clicked.

"And you think I would do better to trust a man who hides what he is?" She said with a little edge to her tone.

When he looked up, she saw the slight shift in the colour of his eyes; he was wearing coloured contacts, the brown hiding the bold, shimmering blue underneath. She knew what he was and it gave her a little confidence in her situation.

She saw the flash of shock snap across his features, quickly controlled however, hidden once again behind a mask of power.

"You don't seem the type to make friends easily, my dear." He said, voice colder than ever. It seemed she had hit a nerve.

"Are we done yet?" She asked, voice turning innocent, resembling the one of a child.

"You tell me." He replied.

She looked him over once more, before turning away, limping toward the car again.

"I imagine people have already told you to stay away from him, Doctor Moss, but I can see by the void inside you that it wont happen any time soon." His words made her pause; she had never said anything about a void, only thinking the phrase in passing. She was starting to wonder what his Skill actually was.

Turning she looked him in the masked dyes again. "You know nothing of the void."

"Perhaps not, but I do know that William is wrong." He replied.

The thought to protect a fellow Skilled was more a moral choice than anything else, just like eating a healthy meal was. But the need to protect her twin was no conscious thought; it was instinct. As the threat was made to her brother, she felt a fire burn in her. She felt as if she had been cut a thousand times, the fire bleeding out of her in a burning stream of physical pain. Her head spun at the force of it and she swayed slightly in her spot, leaning on her stick heavily, eyes blinking hard. After an eternal fraction of a moment, she came back to the numbing life she lead, head aching from the pain and flood she had just felt.

Empty eyes met his and she swore he looked like he was sharing her pain, fear swimming in his eyes.

"Stay away from my brother." She said in a demanding voice, a tone so low it could only be heard by the man in front of her. She held so much power in those five words that she could literally follow the shiver that took him with her blank eyes.

He finished what he started though, pushing past his sudden fear and pain, walking towards her as he spoke. "He thinks that they are lost forever, that you will never feel again, but he's wrong. We both know it." He had reached the point where he was standing right in front of her now and he looked her in the eye. "But it's simply too much pain." He whispered, a hint of regret in his voice, sadness in his eyes.

"Who are you?" She asked quietly, cocking her head to the side in curiosity. She would deal with what he had said and done later, when she was alone and could vent properly. _Soon though_, her mind whispered, knowing that leaving it too long would only make everything worse.

"I truly am sorry, for everything." He told her, just as quietly, eyes not breaking contact from hers.

A beeping from her pocket broke the moment, and she slipped her hand back out again, glancing down to the devise.

_Could be dangerous._

_SH_

As she looked up again, she found that she man had started to walk away, twirling his umbrella as he walked. "Time to choose a path to walk, Doctor Moss." He called as he went.

Nix just stood there, back ram rod straight, staring in front of her. The man had made her feel again; and it was horrendous.

She felt the sensation of a single tear falling down her cheek, and raised a hand to catch it on her fingers. Looking at it, she heard a set of heels walk up behind her.

"I'm to take you home." It was the woman from the car.

Nix quickly wiped away all traces of having shed the droplet, turning to face the woman. "Address?"

"Baker Street." Replied Nix, limping her way over to the back door of the car again. "221B Baker Street."


	7. Chapter 7

**A Study In Skills**

**A Plan**

As they pulled up to the flat, Nix turned to the woman. "What's your name, since I didn't ask before." She asked of the woman next to her.

"Umm…Anthea." Was he delayed reply she got.

Nix held out her right hand. "Call me Nix. Nice to meet you, _Anthea_." She said, accentuating the name, letting the woman know that she knew it was a lie.

Anthea looked up for a second, looked at the hand and took it. After a short shake, Nix got out of the car again, heading to the front door, hearing the car drive off. Mrs Hudson let her in and Nix made her way upstairs. _Have to get a key sometime_, she thought.

Walking into the living room she found Sherlock sitting cross-legged on the sofa, head lolling on the back of the piece of furniture, and gripping his arm. She also noticed that he was glowing slightly.

"What are you doing?" She asked, but it only seemed to break his concentration, the glowing abruptly halting and a breeze flowing through the room. It wasn't cold though; it was warm with a hint of pins and needles passing through her as it ghosted around her empty form.

His eyes snapped open, head snapping up to see her standing there. "Nicotine patch." He told her, lifting his hand to reveal three skin coloured patches stuck to his arm.

She raised an eyebrow. "Three of them?"

"It's a three patch problem." He explained, head falling back and eyes drifting closed again. The room seemed to get ever so slightly colder as he did this. He muttered something about a smoking habit and London, but she didn't quite catch his murmurings.

"Stupid question." She warned. "You do know you're _glowing_, right?"

"That tends to happen when doing energy work." He muttered, the glow diminishing slightly as he did so.

"Energy work?" She asked, wanting to learn more about the man's Skill.

Sherlock just sighed, knowing that he wouldn't be able to concentrate properly while she was still talking, opened his eyes, but didn't move his head. "Everything has it's own energy field. Different things give off different energies. They are all woven together, like an intricate tapestry of threads, all perfectly in balance with each other. Well, mostly. Anyway, taking energy from inanimate things helps me think, good for brain work, but taking energy from living things can leave them a little drained."

"Thanks, I suppose then." She said.

"Don't thank me, I'm only leaving you alone because your threads are wrong. Mrs Hudson however, is easy pickings." He told her.

"What do you mean, my threads are wrong?" She asked, wondering what could be wrong with her.

"Imagine a knitted jumper. Now take one tread and pull it. It throws the entire piece of woolly clothing completely off." He explained in a tired fashion.

"So you're saying I'm a damaged jumper?" She said, trying to understand.

"Pretty much, yes. I think it has something to do with your lack of emotion. I would prefer to stay well away from that stuff until I know more about it. Doesn't stop me observing it though." She picked up on his working more than the words themselves though.

"You can see the energies?" She found the whole Skill fascinating.

"Yes. Take yours for example. You are completely grey, varying in shades, but still grey, however I do know you saw someone else tonight after I left. His is more of a green-blue colour. But in amidst all your threads is one particular one. It looks burned, singed beyond description, but it was stretched earlier…" He trailed off, sitting up, frowning at the expressionless woman in front of him, the grey strands around her in his minds eye but so much more..

_What on earth have you done? _He thought with some form of trepidation flowing through him, accusation lacing his silent words.

_Nothing intentional, I assure you. _Came the silent reply from the corer of his mind. He just scoffed at the silent reply.

Sherlock saw the power that thrummed through the threads of energy of the Skilled woman before him, but he didn't know what would happen if she ever lost control.

_We_ _may find out soon, if we aren't careful_, a voice mused in his head; a voice with a dangerous tone; a voice that wasn't his own.

Sherlock wondered on the results of such an event but knew he would rather not find out for once. He may be curious to the point of insanity, but contrary to popular belief, he knew when to not cross a line.

He could see though; she was far beyond that invisible line and dangerously close to loosing everything.

She stared at him for a little while, knowing that the numbing nothingness was not the right reaction to have after hearing what he said, but she couldn't help it; it just was. His constant staring was starting to make her feel a little paranoid again though and she had had enough of that for one night.

"Well…?" She asked after a few seconds. He didn't reply. "You asked me to come, I'm assuming its important."

"Oh, yeah. Of course. Can I borrow your phone?" He asked, snapping out of his thoughts once more.

She just huffed and went to sit down, thinking a little. "My phone?"

"Don't want to use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognised. It's on the website." He told her.

"Mrs Hudson's got a phone." She replied.

"I tried shouting, but she didn't hear me."

She lifted up her hand, palm facing upwards. "I was the other side of London." She muttered, concentrating on her task.

Sherlock just watched in fascination. He always enjoyed the abnormalities of the Skilled. "There was no hurry." He replied just as quietly.

Her hand produced a bubble, about fifteen centre meters in diameter, glowing an icy blue. He recognised the colour, but couldn't quite remember where from. In the glowing orb, a shape took hold. As it did, she guided the bubble over to the man, stopping it right in front of his face.

As the gas stopped moving, Sherlock saw that it was a Blackberry, identical to his own, only the casing was a bright, icy blue, the same colour as the glowing.

He lifted up a hand, unsure whether he should pop the bubble. A voice drifted quietly from the other side of the room.

"Go ahead."

So he did, momentarily feeling a slight warmth from the bubble before it burst, letting the phone drop into his other hand, which he had moved under the bubble, ready to catch the devise.

"Keep it." She said, admiring her work from across the room. "It has no number, but can call any other number, as well as text, free of charge, but can also get replies once you message someone. You just have no number to give out to people."

Sherlock looked up from the oddly coloured devise and saw her still blank features watching him carefully. "Thank you." He said.

"So, the murderer took her case. Did you find it?" She asked him, getting down to business and getting a shocked look in return.

"Yes, I did." He said slowly, not understanding that she did in fact understand what he was shouting about earlier. One of the reasons he did it was to simply annoy people. He closed his eyes again leaning back. "It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it."

The talk of a risk, however small made Nix sit up a little straighter. A risk was the only thing that truly interested her now a days, apart from Skills of course.

"On my desk, there's a number." He told her, throwing the new phone over to her. She caught it easily, and stood up again, going over to sit at the desk instead - her leg was really playing up tonight. "I want you to send a text."

She typed in the number quickly, double checking to see if it was right.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" Sherlock asked in a low voice.

"Yes, but I declined the offer." She replied casually, not caring for the meeting other than the powerful man, other than the rush of pain she felt, as well as the underlying threat to her brother that she was sure she wasn't imagining.

"Pity." Came the equally casual reply. "We could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

"What's his name?" She asked, voice hinting on threatening, but not quite there yet. Sherlock had no doubt that her intentions were non too innocent however.

"That doesn't matter." He avoided quickly. "He's the most dangerous man you have ever met and not my problem right now. On my desk, the number." He tried to distract her.

She only decided to try again later. "Already typed in and awaiting the message."

"Really?" He sounded shocked again.

"Yes. Going to tell me what to type, or do you want to do it yourself?" She knew he was a lazy one, only doing things that were worth his time and effort; that was obvious from him calling her halfway across London to send a text.

"These words exactly: _What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come_."

"You blacked out?" She asked, typing away quickly.

"What? No…No!" He replied getting up from the sofa, sighing. He stood on the table rather than go around it, crossing to the room, going to the kitchen and bringing back a pink suitcase. "Type and send it quickly."

Clicking send, Nix saw him put the case on a small table in the middle of the room, opening it to reveal a lot of pink clothing and a pink book. "Have you sent it?"

"Yes." She told him, setting the phone down next to him, going to sit in the first chair again, watching him closely again.

He looked up, seeing her gaze on him and sighed. "Oh, perhaps I should mention - _I didn't kill her_." He said, as though he had done so a thousands times before, giving her a look.

"I didn't say or think you did." She replied calmly.

"Why not? It's a reasonable assumption to make given the text I just had you send and the fact I have her case. It's very logical." He spoke quickly.

"However, it _wouldn't_ be logical for you to take the case if you were the one doing the killings." She replied just as fast and not missing a beat.

He smiled at her. "Oh, I like you."

She forced a small smile on her face, once more trying to imitate a social norm. "Do people usually assume you're the murderer?"

He looked away. "Now and then, yes." He pushed himself up to sit on the back of the chair, swinging his legs under him to land on the seat.

"That's unfortunate." She replied.

"Indeed." He acknowledged.

"So…" She started, wanting him to explain things.

"So, the killer drove her to Lauriston Gardens in a car. He could have only kept the case by accident if it was in a car." He started to explain, Nix listening intently. "Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention - particularly a man, which is statistically more likely. So obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. It wouldn't have taken him more than five minuets to realise his mistake. I checked every backstreet wide enough for a car five minuets from Lauriston Gardens, and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"And you got all that, because you realised the case would be pink?" She asked, somewhat taken aback.

"Of course." He nodded.

"That is utter genius." She told him.

"Well, it had to be pink." He said in an obvious manner, still trying to get used to the praise for his work.

"Of course." She replied, mimicking his words from a moment ago.

"Now look." He told her and her gaze fell on the contents of the case. "Do you see what's missing?"

She poked around a bit, feeling no shame in her actions. "There's no phone or laptop or anything like that. Nothing electrical."

"Exactly." He said, smiling at her again. "No phone on the body, no phone in the case. We know she had one, that's the number there, you just text it."

"Left it at home maybe? Or lost it?" Nix suggested, mind working on possibilities.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She'd never leave her phone at home." Sherlock replied, moving to sit on the seat of the chair again. He never seemed to stop moving.

Nix thought for a minute, then re-thought her actions. "_Why did _I send that text?"

"Well, the question is; where is her phone now?" Sherlock said, waiting for her to make the connection. He knew she would; she was a smart one.

A few seconds later she cocked her head to the side, looking at his. "Did I just text a murderer?" He smiled at her. "What good will that do?"

As she spoke, the icy blue phone that was only minutes old began to ring. Nix raised an eyebrow at it, looking back to Sherlock.

"A few hours after his last victim and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody just found that phone, they would ignore a text like that, but the murderer would panic." He finished, getting up, snapping the case shut and grabbing his coat.

Nix just watched him still. The constant gaze was starting to unnerve him a little, but he wouldn't ever admit it, not even to himself. The female enigma that was Nix Moss was intriguing to the detective, and if that meant putting up with a constant gaze, he would gladly.

"Have you talked to the police?" She asked him, pondering if he would be the type to do things himself, or go by the books. She hoped it wasn't the latter; it would make life that little bit more dull.

"Four people are dead, there isn't time to talk to the police." He replied, not missing the faint twitch at the corner of her lips.

"So why talk to me?" She replied.

He gaze went to the mantle and he frowned. "Mrs Hudson took my skull." He sounded like a child that had his favourite toy taken away from him. She thought of a child Sherlock Holmes, having the notion that she would have found it amusing at some point.

"So I'm a replacement skull then?" _Never thought I'd say that_, she thought.

"Relax, you're doing fine." He assured her. "Well?"

This threw her though. "Well, what?"

"Well…you could just sit there and … watch telly." They both pulled a face at the thought; telly was boring.

"You want me to come with you?" She asked, curiosity colouring her tone slightly.

"I like company when I go out and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so…" He explained, pulling on his scarf.

She gave no reaction other than to stand up, looking at him again. "Problem?" He asked her.

"None at all." She said.

"Come on then." He replied, smirking at the woman. She just followed him down the stairs and out of the door for the second time that night.


	8. Chapter 8

**A Study In Skills**

**A Chase**

Heading down the street, Sherlock and Nix walked side by side. She had a strange sense of familiarity as she asked, "Where are we going?"

"Northumberland Street's a five minute walk form here." He gave in answer, eyes scanning the street of people. It was dark now since it was closer to night now than evening, the street lights giving the roads and paths a synthetic illumination.

"You think he'll actually turn up?" She asked.

"I think he is brilliant enough to do so, yes. I love the brilliant ones - all so desperate to get caught." He said conversationally.

"Well, I suppose genius needs an audience." She said slightly sarcastically, giving him a look.

"This is his hunting ground." Sherlock thought aloud, spinning in a circle as he walked, yet never slowing down. "Right here, in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, it changes everything."

"Like what?" She questioned, wanting to understand his thoughts and theories.

"Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go." It almost seemed he was mocking the situation before he shouted, startling a woman as she passed them. "Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed, wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"

She left the questions hanging for a second, before replying. "Not a clue. Who?"

He seemed to become more human then. "Haven't the faintest. Hungry?"

They crossed the street, heading to a small Italian restaurant, Sherlock holding the door for her as they entered. As he took off his gloves, she started to un-button her coat and they were promptly approached by a hearty Italian man with a short grey beard, hair tied back at the nape of his neck. "Sherlock!" The men shook hands, Nix just offering the man a small forced smile. "Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free!" He declared, giving them both a menu. "Any thing you want, on the house. For you and your date."

"Do you want to eat?" Asked Sherlock.

"Sure." She replied a little unsure at being called Sherlock's date.

"This man got me off a murder charge." Nix raised an eyebrow to Sherlock, silently asking him to explain.

He did. "This is Angelo. Three years ago, I proved to Lestrade that at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder, that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking." He threw a look over his shoulder.

Angelo showed them to a table as he said. "He cleared my name."

"Cleared it a bit." Sherlock corrected.

Angelo ignored him though it seemed. "If it weren't for this man, I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison." Sherlock reminded him.

"I'll get a candle for the table; more romantic." Angelo said, winking at Nix and going back to the back of the restaurant.

Nix sat down, back to the window, while Sherlock sat perpendicular to her, having a clear view out of the window, seeing the whole of the street outside, putting his coat over the back of the chair.

"22 Northumberland Street." He told her, looking out the window, barely blinking. "Keep your eyes on it."

"He wouldn't just ring the door bell though will he?" She asked him rhetorically. "He'd have to be mad."

Sherlock just looked at her. "Well, he has killed four people."

"Fair point." She replied.

"You may as well eat, we might have along wait." Sherlock said, looking back to the window again. She glanced at the menu, picking what she wanted quickly.

Right on time, Angelo came back with a candle in a glass, setting it in the middle of the table. "So what you having?" He asked them.

"Slice of pizza, please." She said quietly.

"Sherlock?" Angelo asked.

"Nothing for me." He said simply.

"Wont be long." Said Angelo, giving Nix another wide smile. She didn't return it.

"Not hungry?" She asked him as Angelo went to get the food.

"Digestion slows me down." He said distractedly.

Well, there's something she didn't expect from him. "If you insist."

Fifteen minuets later, Nix had her pizza in front of her, Sherlock still looking out of the window. She was getting bored of the silence though and decided to try to strike up conversation with the man.

"I didn't know people had arch-enemies." She said.

"What?" He said frowning slightly, but still looking out of the window.

"In real life. I didn't think people had arch enemies. Doesn't really happen." She said, hoping she didn't offend him.

"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull." He just replied.

"So…" She tried. "Who did I meet?"

Sherlock didn't know why, but the unstable nature of her energy made him not trust her with this little piece of information. So, he dodged again, earning a smugness in the back of his mind that had nothing to do with him. "So what do people have then, in their real live?"

She looked up from her food, realising what he was doing but took the opportunity of conversation. "Family, friends, people they like, don't like. Girlfriends, boyfriends."

"Well, as I was saying; dull." He went back to the window again.

"You don't have a girlfriend then?" She asked, remembering all the times she would lark about with the guys in the army, all thought of being different just because she was a woman forgotten. She felt like she had friends, family even. She dropped her gaze at the memory, once again wishing she could feel like that again.

A voice broke her from her memories. "Girlfriend? No, not really my area." He said.

Nix took a bite of pizza, then thought about what he had said. Swallowing she quickly spoke again. "Oh. Boyfriend then?" He just looked at her. "Which is fine by the way." The conversation was taking a funny turn, she found.

"I know it's fine." He said steadily.

"So, you've got a boyfriend then?" She asked, trying to get a little more understanding here.

"No." He said, watching her every move.

"You're unattached then, like I am." She said, giving up and going back to her pizza.

Sherlock went back to looking out of window, but frowned as a thought occurred to him then. _No… she said herself, she didn't feel_. His frown deepened a fraction._ But she hadn't argued the assumption that they were on a date_. He would have to deal with this.

"Nix, um…" Sherlock started his well rehearsed and practiced speech. "I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered, I'm really not looking for any…"

Nix saw where he was going and thought she would save him the trouble. "No, I'm not interested Sherlock. No offence, I mean your good looking and everything, but like I said before, little lacking in the feelings department." _Bless him, he looks so uncomfortable_, she thought. She wondered if she would have felt amusement or pity for the man in front of her, then decided not to dwell on the thought. It did no good to dwell. "I was simply saying, it's all good."

He looked her in the eye for a few more seconds. "Good." He said shortly, wondering again about the seemingly taboo topic of her lack of emotions.

_Don't go there, _a warning voice said, but he paid it no mind.

"About your lack of emotions…" He started, looking for any signs that it truly was something that should not be talked about. Usually he wouldn't care, but this woman was different; somehow fragile. He didn't want to break her. Something told him that he would not like the outcome.

"Yes?" She asked, taking a bite of food. She had been expecting the topic to come up again since she told him, but as he opened his mouth to ask his question, something caught his eye, his attention snapping away again.

"Look across the street." He said instead. "Taxi. Nobody getting in, nobody getting out. Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever." He said, muttering now. "Is it clever? Why is it clever?" He had let his thoughts run, but amongst them was one that wasn't quite his, letting it slip through his own lips. It annoyed him when this happened, but he was too focused to care at the moment.

"That's him then." Said Nix, inching her hand towards her coat.

"Don't stare." He told her.

"Well, you're staring." She answered childishly.

"We can't both stare." He replied cheekily. At this, he grabbed his coat, and went out the door. She slipped her own on, grabbing her stick as she went. Meeting Sherlock outside, she saw him jump over a car, running into a dark ally way. She limped after him.

When she got there, his finger tips were pressed to his temples and they were glowing slightly. She had a feeling of what would happen and quickly put an emergency plan into action.

She put her hand above her injured leg, half a foot above the skin. She made a bubble, concentrating on getting a mix of numbing energy that would let her run for a day or two with no pain what so ever in the usually achy leg. It would also keep her awake for the night and the rest of tomorrow. She shot the bubble into her leg, watching the limb ripple slightly at the speed of the shot. Her pain was instantly gone and she stretched out a little, getting the leg used to functioning properly again. This all took less than three seconds.

She threw her stick to the side as she looked up, seeing Sherlock's head snap up.

Sherlock had not seen her little self medication and had been focusing on the energies of the cab, following its most likely path through London. As he did this, he planned a path for them to travel, that would also allow the woman to see her limp was simply psychosomatic. Snapping his head up, he looked to her, hoping she wouldn't remember the pain.

"Come on!" He shouted, hearing her fast foot falls not far behind him.

They ran down the alley, turning into a building through a doorway she had not seen to start with, running up the stairs, Nix did her best to keep up with the mad man. She fell back a bit at a spiral stair case though, her leg muscles not used to the sudden strain they were being put under.

"Come on, Nix!" He shouted down to her, already at the top.

Bursting through the door at the top, Nix found that they were now on a rooftop, the man already running across it, dodging obstacles. They jumped a railing, Sherlock shooting off again. Unknown to her, as he went he was taking scraps of energy from most things he went past, letting it fuel his own needs for energy.

She saw him make a jump and soon followed it almost exactly, only realising they were jumping from one building to the next half way through the leap itself.

She felt weightless. She still felt nothing, but was flying above it all; not just the pavement of people below her.

A couple of fire escapes later and the pair of them were back on the ground again, running down several alleys, turning even more corners. As they came to a road big enough for a car to drive through, they saw a cab drive past, just meters in front of them.

"Damn it." She muttered, breathless, going to bend over, taking her eyes of Sherlock for a second.

"This way!" She heard, and just ran to where she thought it came from. A moment later, she heard it again, a little further away this time. "No, _this _way!"

"Sorry!" She shouted back, making a sharp turn and running back again. They were on the main street again, the traffic only becoming a hazard to the cab, but the cars providing good camouflage. Nix just followed Sherlock, trusting that he knew where they were going.

They went through a few more back streets, running behind the back way of a purple lit club, and out onto a street again, where Sherlock was promptly hit with the cab, making it stop in its place.

"Police!" She heard him declare, deciding to just go along with it. "Open her up."

She caught up, seeing him open the door to reveal a very American looking man with a tan sitting in the back.

Sherlock took one look and sighed. "No... Teeth, tan. What, Californian?" He looked at the bag in the back. "LA, Santa Monica. Just arrived."

She peeked into the cab, seeing the luggage and the little white tag on it. "Luggage?" She asked, wanting to be sure.

"Of course." He said turning away form her, back to the man who had yet to speak a word to them. "First trip to London, right? Going by your final destination and the cabbie's route."

"Sorry, are you guys the police?" He asked, a thick Californian accent.

"That we are, Sir." Nix said, not wanting to let Sherlock have all the interesting things. She only got a shocked look for her troubles. "Everything all right?" Sherlock flashed what looked to be a police badge, but she didn't comment on it.

"Yeah…" Said the man in the back, smiling slightly.

"Good." Said Sherlock, giving the man a smile. "Welcome to London." Nix just smiled briefly, following the crazy man that had lead them who knows where as he walked down the street again.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down." She summarised.

"Basically." He admitted a little out of breath still.

"Here." She said pulling him into an ally way, where there was little light. "Quick oxygen. Bit of a cheat but who's counting, eh?" She told him, a bubble coming from her palm. He watched it with the same fascination as he did every other time. The small, pure white bubble flew to his chest and he immediately felt better, not needing to breath so heavily any more. She made another for herself, speaking as she did so. "Not the murderer then."

He just sighed in frustration at having gotten it wrong. "Not the murderer, no."

"Wrong country, good alibi." She said, thinking out loud_. Seems to be catching, _she thought.

"As they go."

She then remembered the badge Sherlock had shown the Californian. "Where did you get that, by the way?" She took the badge out of his hand, opening it and reading the name. _"Detective Inspector Lestrade?" _She looked up just raising an eyebrow at him.

He smirked proudly at her, a gleam in his cold eyes. "Yeah. I pick pocket him when he's annoying. Keep it, I've got plenty at the flat."

"Thanks." She said, pocketing the wallet.

Sherlock just gave her a small half smile, but caught the high visibility jacket and cap on the police man down the street. Turning his head, he saw that the Californian man was pointing to them, talking to real officer.

The detective turned to the woman in front of him, seeing the slight spark in her eyes, even if it was buried deep. _Maybe there was hope for her after all, _he mused.

"Round two?" He asked.

"Ready when you are." She replied, looking up to him, having seen the officer as well.

With that, they ran all the way back to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock once again leading them through possibly the most difficult path. It certainly was not a boring one though, and Nix felt weightless again.


	9. Chapter 9

**A Study In Skills**

**The Drugs Bust**

Panting a little once more, Nix followed Sherlock through the front door of 221B, watching as she took off his coat. She contemplated another oxygen bubble, then thought better of it, not wanting to make it a regular thing.

"That was ridiculous." She commented, leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. "That was the most ridiculous thing…. I've ever done. Well, almost."

"Well, you did invade Afghanistan." Sherlock told her, standing next to her against the wall.

She looked up to him, raising an eyebrow to him. When he saw her expression though he couldn't help but laugh, Nix giving her own ghost of a smile, barely there through the blankness.

"That wasn't just me." She told him. "Besides, why aren't we back at the restaurant?"

"Oh, they can keep a look out. It was a long shot anyway." Sherlock replied, seeming a little unhappy his plan failed.

Nix didn't understand though. "So, what were we doing there?"

"Oh, just passing the time. And proving a point." He said elusively.

"What point?" She asked.

"You." Sherlock then faced Mrs Hudson's door. "Mrs Hudson! Dr Moss will take the room upstairs."

"Yes, most likely, but I still don't see your point here, Sherlock."

Just as Sherlock was about to open his mouth again though, Mrs Hudson came running out of her flat, a distressed look on her wrinkled features. "Sherlock, what have you done?"

"Mrs Hudson?" He questioned, not liking the state she was in.

"Upstairs." She told him, looking up the stairs to better accentuate her words.

Sherlock took one last look of her, then looked to Nix before shooting off up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Nix just looked at Mrs Hudson for a second before following him once more, taking the steps two at a time instead.

As she walked into the living room, Nix spotted several police people searching through the belongings of the Consulting Detective, DI Lestrade sat in one of the chairs, apparently making himself quite at home in the recently acquired flat.

"I knew you'd find the case," He was saying to Sherlock. "I'm not stupid." Nix found this quite ironic considering it was her that explained Sherlock's epiphany to him earlier.

"You can't just break into my flat." Sherlock told him, barley managing to not spit the words out.

"You can't withhold evidence." The DI shot back, following up a correction to the madman's words - an occurrence that didn't happen often to the DI. "And I didn't break in."

"What do you call this, then?" Sherlock demanded.

The DI just tried to hide a smile though. "It's a drugs bust."

Nix threw in her little input then, defending her fellow Skilled. "This guy - a junkie?"

Sherlock saw the defence though and turned to her, trying to stop the young woman from saying what she was already saying. "Nix…"

Too late though. "I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day long and you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." She said with a little confidence lacing her hollow tone.

"Phoenix." Sherlock said, now standing right in front of her, looking her in the eye.

At the sound of her full name, Nix snapped her gaze to the man in front of her, seeing the warning in his eyes. _Surely not…_

"No…" She muttered, not quite believing it,

Sherlock took the turn to go on the defensive then. "What?"

"You?"

"Shut up!" Sherlock told her, though she could see it wasn't meant in a spiteful manner. The man then turned to Lestrade once more. "I'm not your sniffer dog!"

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog." The seated man replied.

Two sets of Skilled eyes snapped to the kitchen where Lestrade had indicated, both finding Anderson standing there, wiggling a few gloved fingers in their direction. Neither one of them liked it, but at least Nix didn't say anything about it. Sherlock however couldn't help himself.

"Anderson? What are _you _doing here on a drugs bust?"

Anderson just smiled maliciously, enjoying Sherlock's irritation at his mere presence. "Oh, I volunteered."

"They all did." Lestrade told them. "They're not strictly _on_ the drugs squad, but they're very keen."

Sherlock pulled a face, trying to control his emotions that little better when someone asked a question; he snapped.

"Are these human eyes?" Sally asked, holding up a jar.

Nix frowned at the sight of the jar, but then her attention caught something else, something she had felt once before and it couldn't be good.

The room suddenly dropped several degrees.

"Put those back!" Sherlock demanded, only just managing to not shout at the curly haired woman.

"They were in the microwave…" Donovan replied, not seeing the warning in his eyes nor hearing the controlled anger that laced his voice, threatening to break through. She didn't really know where the usual place to keep a jar of eyes would be, she was sure the microwave wasn't it.

"It's an experiment." Sherlock said, jaw tight and voice carefully controlled. Nix saw this and when Sally didn't move, just looking to Anderson, Nix decided to act instead.

Stepping forward, she sighed loudly, crossing the living room to the kitchen, taking the jar off of a shocked Sally and putting it back in the microwave, muttering "For God's sack, bloody children," as she went before going to stand in her original spot in the living room once more. She couldn't understand why people had to try to anger others so much, it was just petty.

As she looked around she noticed the room had gotten a little bit warmer again, the officers looking at her weirdly though and Sherlock was just staring at her, not able to understand why she had done that; _most people wouldn't even be able to look at a jar of eyeballs, never mind take one off of an officer and put them in a microwave._

_She's hardly a normal person, now is she? _A small voice echoed it the back of his mind. He ignored it though.

_Go away, I'm a little busy at the moment_, he replied tightly.

"Keep looking guys." Lestrade said to the officers, most of which were still looking at Nix in bewilderment. "Or you could start helping us properly, and I'll stand them down."

"This is childish." Sherlock told him, ignoring the now standing man's words as he paced in front of him.

"Well, I'm dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is _our _case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?" The DI seemed to be getting impatient now.

"Oh, what? So you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" Sherlock asked, not liking being told what to do.

"It stops being pretend if we find anything." Though Lestrade knew that even if there was any drugs in the flat, Sherlock would never have let them find them. The words still got to the man though.

"I am clean!" Sherlock declared, the room dropping it's temperature again as the energy in the room reacted to his irritation, the officers all shivering at the sudden drop.

"Is your flat?" Lestrade asked. "All of it?"

Sherlock was getting a little agitated now, wanting these people out of his personal space, not liking that they could uncover a worldwide secret in one stupid move; he had so many papers, new articles, even the odd book all based around the secret of the Skilled and for Lestrade to find even a scrap of that knowledge…..

It would be disastrous.

He had always hated people going through his things, ever since Mycroft had broken into his room when he was a child, the older brother going through all his positions while he was at school; after all, Sherlock didn't get his overbearing and quite often invasive curiosity from nowhere after all.

Rolling up his sleeve he showed Lestrade a nicotine patch on his arm, though Nix noticed it was a fresh one than the three she saw earlier. _When did he get that? _"I don't even smoke."

Lestrade rolled up his own sleeve though, showing an identical flesh coloured patch on his own forearm. "Neither do I." The men looked at the arms for a second before the awkwardness got a little too much, Sherlock being the first to yank his sleeve back down and button it up, turning away from Lestrade who did the same. "So let's work together. We found Rachel."

This got the Consulting Detectives attention. "Who is she?"

"Jenifer Wilson's only daughter."

This confused the man though. "Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

Anderson chose to interrupt this train of though thought, throwing in his unproductive penny to the conversation. "Never mind that, we found the case. According to _someone_, the murderer has the case, and here we find it in the hands of our favourite psychopath."

Sherlock turned his icy glare to the annoying man full on then, focusing on him alone, making Anderson the only one to feel a sudden chill. "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high functioning sociopath. Do your research." He turned to Lestrade then. "You need to bring Rachel in to question her_. I _need to question her."

Lestrade had more to tell though. "She's dead."

"Excellent." _Is it_, Nix thought. "How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be."

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for 14 years. Technically she was never alive." Lestrade told him, but it didn't clear up much of the confusion on Sherlock's face.

"Stillborn then." Nix said, both men looking to her suddenly. "Mother's are encouraged to name a stillborn child in order to help the grieving process. Apparently it helps them let go of the child."

"That's not right." Sherlock said, looking away from Nix's expressionless face - one he was soon getting used to, despite it's ability to unnerve - to Lestrade, then around the room in thought. "That's…why would she do that? Why?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?" Anderson asked, giving no useful input to the conversation other than to take a cheap shot at Sherlock. Nix found she really didn't like him at all. "Yeah, sociopath, I can see it now."

Sherlock rounded on him though, putting the man back in his place. "She didn't _think_ about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was _dying. _It would have _hurt. _It took effort, it would have hurt."

"You said that the victims all took the poison - the drug - themselves, that he _makes_ them take it." Nix thought aloud, trying to help, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't get very far if he just kept arguing with Anderson. "Maybe he talks to them. He could have used the death of her daughter, make her feel worse about her life."

"But that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?" Sherlock asked, gesturing randomly as he paced, but the sudden biting silence that took the flat had nothing to do with Sherlock's manipulation. A quick scan of the threads of the room told him that he may have said something out of place, a sigh in the corner of his mind only confirming it. Looking to Nix he saw that she was just as blank as always, no shame or shock in her eyes; just the same, consistant nothingness that was always there. "Not good?"

"Bit not good, yeah." She replied off-headedly.

_Don't, Sherlock…_

"Yeah but if you were dying, if you'd been murdered, in your very last few seconds, what would you say?" He asked, ignoring the warning in favour of getting a fresh pair of - albeit blank and lifeless - eyes on the situation and puzzle.

Nix thought about _that_ night, the night she could remember with the most amount of clarity and nothingness. She thought about what her last few thoughts had been. "William, forgive me."

"Use your imagination!" Sherlock told her, trying to get her to think a little more.

"I don't have to, Sherlock." She answered quietly.

He heard her answer and saw more than just her bright green eyes and the blank space they held; he saw what he should be seeing, the pain and regret, the heart-wrenching agony and all that came with it, the grief, the shame, the guilt.

Everything that wasn't in the young woman's eyes.

It wasn't even in her threads, her fundamental energies that he could so easily read and he could shiver at the thought of why it was so colourless, so bland. So lifeless.

He moved on though, wanting to get away from such topics; at least in front of all the clueless officers. "Yeah, but if you were clever, _really_ clever. Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers - she _was_ clever. She was trying to tell us something."

Mrs Hudson made her presence known then, having come up the stairs to speak to the resident male of 221B. "Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock."

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away." Was the answer she got.

"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess." She said looking around the living room. "What are they looking for?"

_I do believe you are missing something….._

_If you wont help, go away, _Sherlock insisted.

_I know you hate to be told the answers to these things_, the voice replied.

Nix thought she'd fill the woman in on what was happening. "It's a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson."

This didn't calm the woman though, only making her seem more worried and a little frantic. "But they're just for my hip! They're herbal soothers…"

_It's so obvious if you just think about it!_

"Shut up, everybody!" Sherlock suddenly shouted, slamming the door in his mind to keep the voice out. "Don't move, don't speak, don't breath. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off." He had tried to concentrate, he really had, but the constant noise and restless energy in the room was making it so impossible to do anymore than pace at the moment.

"What? My _face_ is?" Anderson questioned.

Sherlock only just managed to not reply with, _no, it's your energy, it's foul. _And it truly was - like the most acidic lemons mixed with bitter almonds and salt; vile to see, disgusting to sense and even more horrible to manipulate.

Lestrade caught on though, and, wanting answers sooner rather than later, enforced Sherlock's conditions of silence. "Everybody be quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back."

"Oh, for God's sake!" Anderson muttered, thinking the idea was ludicrous.

"Your back! Now, please!" Lestrade demanded, making the situation quite clear to the complaining forensic.

"Come on, think. Quick!" Sherlock muttered, automatically starting to take a little energy from everyone in the room except Nix - he still didn't want to test her threads just yet.

"What about your taxi?" Mrs Hudson said, breaking his concentration.

"Mrs Hudson!" He shouted at her, making her run down the stairs from his out burst. Nix watched her go and decided to go and sit down for a bit.

He had no time for that though as he had just come to an idea. A brilliant idea that could possibly be the answer. "Oh… Ah! She was _clever_. Clever, yes! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you _see_? Do you get it? She didn't _lose _her phone, she never lost it. She _planted_ it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer."

"But how?" Asked Lestrade, feeling that he was missing something.

The question confused the genius though. "What do you mean, how? Rachel!" He saw no one got it yet though and tried again. "Don't you see, _Rachel_!" Still no signs of any sudden clicking of the minds. "Oh, look at you, all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name."

"Then tell us what Rachel is Sherlock because I can't work it out." Nix said, voice oddly quiet. Sherlock hadn't seen her this quiet yet and found it a little weird. He carried on though.

"Nix, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address." Sherlock told her.

As she leant forward she plucked up the little label and read out the e-mail address to him. ".….Jenny dot pink is a little typical, don't you think?"

Sherlock was now sat at his desk, laptop in front of him, muttering as he worked. "Oh, I've been too slow. She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone. So it's a smart phone, it's e-mail enabled. So there was a website for her account. The username is her email address, and all together now, the password is…?"

"Rachel." Supplied Nix, realisation dawning on her. "Rachel is her password."

"So we can read her email. So what?" Asked Anderson, not seeing the bigger picture.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do a lot more than read her e-mails. It's a smart phone, it's got GPS." Sherlock explained.

Nix was catching on now, her mind starting to see what Sherlock was talking about. "So if you lose your phone you can locate it online."

"She's leading us directly to the man who killed her." Sherlock confirmed.

"Unless he got rid of it." Lestrade chipped in, watching the screen.

"We know he didn't though, he panicked when we text the number earlier." Nix supplied while Sherlock muttered at the slow laptop.

Mrs Hudson was back again, standing in the living room doorway. "Sherlock, dear. The taxi driver…"

But Sherlock wasn't having any distractions this time, pushing himself off the desk chair and spinning to stand in front of her. "Mrs Hudson, isn't it time for your _evening soother_?"

Nix sat at the desk watching the laptop screen as Sherlock went on about helicopters and phone batteries to Lestrade. _This laptop really is far too slow…._

Beeping in completion the devise zoomed in on a map, showing the apparent location of the phone they were searching for. _But that's not right, it can't be… _"Sherlock…" The man didn't reply though and she called him again, this time getting a response.

"Where is it? Quickly, where?"

"Here. It's… in 221 Baker Street." She looked round to him to see him looking over her shoulder. "How can it be here?"

Sherlock stood up straight, suddenly realising something he should have noticed a good few minutes ago; he was missing something. Something wasn't right.

"Maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere." Lestrade offered.

"And I didn't notice it?" Sherlock said, still trying to figure out what he had missed. "Me? I didn't notice?"

"Besides, we text him, he called back. We know that at least someone has the phone." Nix said, trying to explain. Lestrade didn't really listen though.

"Okay guys, we're also looking for a mobile phone here, belonged to the victim."

"Probably pink, but I'm telling you Lestrade, it's not here." Nix said again, but she was just ignored.

_Who do we trust, even if we don't know then?_

Sherlock saw a figure standing behind Mrs Hudson, a taxi driver's badge around his neck.

_Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?_

_Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?_

They all got into a cab, with a cab driver. Someone we trust, automatically, to take us to our chosen destination. _But what can we do if the driver chooses otherwise?_

The man was wrong though. So wrong, Sherlock couldn't put his finger on it. He wasn't there but he was. It took a few moments, the man taking a phone out of his pocket, pressing a button and slipping it back again while Sherlock thought.

By the time his own phone beeped, a message coming through he thought he might have the solution, impossible though it may be_. But how?_

_COME WITH ME_

It was from the killer. The man in the hall way.

The man now going outside once more.

Nix saw Sherlock's preoccupation and though she was adverse to interrupting the man's train of thought she didn't like that he was so quiet. "Sherlock, are you okay?"

"What…?" He asked, mind still on the absolute wrongness of the man who had just walked out of their front door_. Not even a trace, none at all._

Seeing that something wasn't right, she got up to stand next to him. "Sherlock…"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He said, brain kicking into gear again, plan being plotted out in his head like a detailed map of possibilities and what-if's.

Nix didn't believe him but changed the subject anyway, trying to get a better response. "How can it be here? We had a reply."

"Don't know…"

Nix was getting bored, the events dying down again. "Maybe I should try it again." She suggested.

"Good idea." He commented, walking to the door way to get his coat.

"Hey, where are you off to?" Nix questioned, not trusting him in the sudden change of mood he had taken.

"Just popping out for a moment. Going to get a bit of fresh air." He said, pulling on his coat and picking up his scarf. Looking over to her, he thought of the possibility that he might actually need some back up, should things turn ugly.

Thankful for the door keeping out the voice that would certainly disagree with what he was about to do, Sherlock slowly put on his scarf and as he did worked.

He took the smallest amount of concern from Mrs Hudson's energies and a pinch of mistrust from Sally's energies, feeding the smallest amount of the combination through the grey threads of Nix's own tapestry of grey threads, the burnt thread stretching as what could only be described as painfully as the burns were so raw, even the slightest pressure would probably hurt.

But it was needed.

Nix felt it, all of it; the suspicion, the concern, and most of all, the pain so strong that it made her fists clench tightly, her nails digging into her palms. She could feel, but it wasn't all pain. And it was ever so slightly cold, the familiar cold that she knew and could now generally recognise.

Sherlock's manipulation.

She looked up to him, eyes burning as she did so. She tried to speak, _what have you done, _but nothing would come out of her slightly open mouth, only a slight breath which she quickly sucked back in.

As he lifted his influence from her, he saw the light leave her eyes once more. It was so bright; her green, bold, Skilled eyes gleaming with emotion and pain and life. He missed it as soon as it was gone, but he knew that to influence her for more than half a second and she may just make a vital mistake that neither of them could afford.

It didn't stop him longing for the spark of life in her eyes though.

As soon as she was back in her sea of numbness, she knew what had happened and snapped her mouth shut instantly, not wanting to say something without collecting herself once more. He had made her feel. Literally forced emotion upon her.

And it was more than just the hurt.

"I wont be long." Sherlock said quietly, an unsaid message in his words. It could have been an apology but Nix wasn't too sure just then.

"Okay, see you soon." Nix replied, equally quiet.

Lestrade looked between Nix and the now empty doorway of the living room, wondering what could have happened in the five seconds between Sherlock checking his phone and going for his fresh air.

Nix threw her brain into overdrive then; Sherlock needed her help. He made her feel when he knew damn well she couldn't usually. The fact that he had gotten into some sort of trouble would be the only solution, but the only trouble she could think of was the killer they were chasing; unless it was a personal problem. Then again, Sherlock didn't seem the type to drop a killer for a personal problem.

First, she needed to make sure of one thing, so walking casually over to the window, she glanced out just for a second, but it was long enough to see him talking to a man outside; the cabbie who was waiting for him.

If he needed help and told her this - in his own, abnormal way - just before he left, she thought it would be safe to assume that he had got to meet the killer, or something along those lines. From what Lestrade had said, he had a habit of going off on his own. She needed to find out where he was going, but to do that, she needed to get rid of Lestrade and his people for a little privacy.

As she thought about this, eyes scanning the room of officers still searching the flat - though with a lot less enthusiasm now that Sherlock wasn't here to see it - she came up with the perfect plan.

_You're not the only own who can manipulate, Mr Holmes._


	10. Chapter 10

**A Study In Skills**

**A Manipulation**

She hunched her shoulder, not having the tall man as a distraction from her person anymore, crossing her arms, right hand holding her left arm, rather than be tucked under it. She sniffed, digging her thumb nail painfully hard into the skin of her arm, feeling the pressure split the skin, her eyes prickling from the pain. She wobbled her bottom lip just to top it off, letting out a shaky breath.

Lestrade's eye flew to the woman as he heard a sniff from her, hearing the tell tale signs of a woman about to cry; it was something he tried to avoid as much as possible. He saw Nix crumpling, but saw no other way to stop it than to call off the search.

"Hey there, are you ok?" He asked gently, going over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. At the contact she just let out a sob, and bolted to what he assumed was the bathroom.

"I'm sorry!" He heard her shout as she went.

Lestrade frowned; he didn't understand women, least of all when they were upset. The only thing he could think of was to get everyone out; they wouldn't find anything anyway. A few minuets later, everyone was cleared out and the DI went to check on the woman, noticing the funny lighting at the bottom of the door as he raised his knuckles to knock on the door; as though something were flickering. He paid it no mind though, knocking thrice on the wood.

"Hey, Miss? We're off now, are you okay in there?" He asked, not really wanting her to say no, but he still felt compelled to ask.

Slamming the door behind her, she wiped her sleeve over her face, licking her thumb and running it over the slightly bloody cut on her arm, wiping away the dried blood. _People can be so stupidly predictable_, she thought in a bored manner.

She sat in the middle of the floor, crossing her legs, placing her hands on her knees, palms upwards, facing each other slightly. She closed he eyes and concentrated hard; it was not an easy task, and not one she enjoyed, no matter how awesome it was to witness.

"Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes…." She muttered as quietly as she could, focusing on everything she knew he was.

Opening her eyes a few minutes later, she saw a familiar orb, this time with a misty white gas in its depths, the size of a beach ball. It was her own version of a camera, but so much better than CCTV.

She had slipped into some form of trance, blocking out the sounds of the officers moving out of the flat, focusing solely on the image of Sherlock getting out of a cab, looking up at two identical buildings. Hearing the approaching foot falls, she quickly zoomed out, finding where the buildings were in London.

"Map…" She whispered coaxingly to the bubble, seeing it transform into a regular looking map, showing the name of the buildings. _Bingo, _she thought.

A sudden knocking broke her concentration, her bubble bursting a moment later into a spectacular explosion of colour, her eyes widening at the sight.

At the man's question, she suddenly found she wanted to hit him. Of course she was alright, for god's sake, was that all he wanted? Sherlock was in trouble!

She took a breath, forcing her heaviness to not show through, adding a little wobble for effect, though her face didn't change.

"Yes, thank you. I'm sorry it just a bit much for one night." She put on a shaky laugh but frowned at the hollowness that was her showing in it. Lestrade also frowned at the unusual sound, but moved on anyway.

"Well we're all done here now, so we'll be off, okay?"

"Okay." She replied, still not opening the door to him. He took the hint, then took his leave.

After hearing the front door close, she waited five seconds to make sure he was gone, then got up of the floor, grabbed her coat from the other room, and went down to the street, hailing a cab and telling the driver where to go.

Sat in the back of the car, she let her mind ponder the irony of getting a cab to catch a killer cabbie.

Sherlock pulled on his gloves as he closed the door behind him.

"Taxi for Sherlock 'Olmes." Said the shorter man, leaning against the cab, a cockney accent thick on his tongue.

"I didn't order a taxi." Sherlock replied, not taking his eyes of the man.

"Doesn't mean you don't need one." He replied.

"You're the cabbie." Sherlock told him, even though it was obvious.

"Yes I am." It was like verbal tennis, neither knowing who would win, but both hoping it would be them.

"The one who stopped outside number 22."

"That's me." The cabbie seemed quite open about his actions. After all, why hide now?

"It was you, not your passenger." Sherlock said.

"See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like your invisible." Sherlock thought back to when he had actually met an invisible person. Hell of a night that was. "Just the back of an 'ead." The smaller mans voice got a little more serious now. "Proper advantage for a serial killer."

"Is this a confession?" Sherlock asked, looking up to the window of his flat as he head a door slam shut. _Bathroom door_, he thought, wondering what was happening.

"Oh yeah." The cabbie told him. "I'll tell you what else, if you call the coppers now, I wont run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise."

Sherlock frowned and the mans words. "Why?"

"'Cause you're not going to do that." He was very sure of that fact.

"Am I not?" Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow at the man.

"I didn't lay two fingers on those people, Mr 'Olmes. I talked to them, and then they died." He said enigmatically. "If you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing; I will never tell you what I said." With that, he walked around, getting into the drivers seat of the cab. Before he got there though, Sherlock spoke.

"No one else will die though, and I believe they call that a result." He said, a little humanity slipping into his tone.

"And you won't ever understand how those people died." Said the cabbie, opening his door. "What kind of result do you care about?" He sat in his seat, waiting.

Sherlock stood there for a moment, thinking about what to do. He knew though that he would never live with not knowing, the puzzle was just too good for that. Cursing his curiosity, he opened the back door, sitting in the back of the cab, seeing the smirk dance over the cabbie's features in the mirror.

A few minuets later, the cab pulled to a stop, the driver getting out and opening Sherlock's door, leaning in.

"Where are we?" Sherlock asked.

The cabbie gave him an unimpressed look. "You know every street in London, you know exactly where we are."

Sherlock smirked a little. "Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why here?"

"It's open." Said the cabbie simply. "Cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie - you always know a quiet little spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out."

Sherlock didn't move. "And you just walk your victims in? How?" The cabbie raised a gun, Sherlock rolling his eyes at the predictability of it. "Oh, dull."

"Don't worry, it gets better." Said the cabbie, catching his interest again. The man lowered the gun. "Don't need this with you - you'll follow me in." With that he walked off, heading to the building on the right.

Sherlock, glad he wasn't as bored as usual, got out of the cab, looking up at the buildings before him, before following the cabbie.

"Well, what do think?" The cabbie said, just getting a shrug off Sherlock. "It's up to you. You're the one who's going to die here."

Sherlock was tired of this already. "No, I'm not."

"That's what they all say." Said the cabbie, a smile on his face. He pointed to s desk. "Shall we talk?"

Sherlock grabbed a chair, spinning it round to sit opposite the cabbie. He sighed. "Bit risky wasn't it? Took me away under the eyes of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid." He took off his gloves, partly to show that the man wasn't worth his full attention. "And Mrs Hudson will remember you."

"You call that a risk?" The cabbie asked. "Nah…This is a risk." He put his hand in his pocket, pulling out a small bottle containing a single, circular white pill, a cross engraved into its surface.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at the sight of it. "Is that really what I think it is?" He asked, humour in his voice.

"Probably." The cabbie replied, smiling again. To an outsider, they probably looked insane; two men, sitting at a table, smiling at the sight of a small pill in a clear bottle.

"Rohypnol?" Sherlock asked, still not believing it.

"That's the one." The other man confirmed. "Told you it was interesting, didn't I?"

"Well it certainly isn't dull." Sherlock allowed.

"I like this bit." The cabbie said after a second. "Cause you don't get it yet, do ya? But you're about to. I just have to do this." He took out another, identical bottle, with identical contents.

"Oh, look at him think! You still don't get it!" He said, laughter in his voice.

"Get what?" The consultant was getting annoyed now, the cabbie was going in circles.

"Sherlock 'Olmes, in the flesh. That website of yours, marvellous stuff! Recommended by a mate of mine. He's a big fan, you know." The cabbie said, still not explaining.

"A fan?" Sherlock questioned, getting a little wary of the cabbie again.

"A big fan of yours."

"I have a _fan_?" Sherlock asked again, wondering who on earth it could be.

"You're too modest, Mr 'Olmes." He said.

"I'm really not."

"You are brilliant." The cabbie told him. Sherlock was only just getting used to praise off of Nix, but a serial killer cabbie was a new one to the list. "You are a proper genius. The science of deduction; now that is proper thinking."

Sherlock smirked. "Oh, and I suppose you're a proper genius too are you?" He mocked the man, talking to him like you would a child.

"Don't look it do I? Funny little man, driving a cab. But the Skilled tend to be intelligent, don't they Mr 'Olmes?" The cabbie said, catching Sherlock's full attention finally.

"Skilled are we now? Is it really considered a Skill to avoid explaining things? Or is it more of a Skill to kill, leaving no trace what so ever?" Sherlock said, feeling the pieces fall into place a little more.

"You'll know soon enough, Mr 'Olmes. Chances are, it'll be the last thing you ever know." The cabbie said, a little more of his insanity creeping into his words.

"Okay, two bottles." Sherlock said. "Explain."

The cabbie just smiled at the plan. "There's a good bottle, and a bad bottle. The bad bottle contains Rohypnol, the good bottle contains a lump of sugar that looks the same as the drug. You take the pill from the bad bottle, Mr 'Olmes, and bad things happen to ya." He smiled widely then. "The good one just fizzes a little in your mouth."

"Both bottles are identical." Sherlock said, looking at them.

"In every way." Replied the cabbie, looking at Sherlock.

"And you know which is which." Sherlock stated.

"Of course I know!" Exclaimed the cabbie.

"But I don't." Said Sherlock, bordering the line between bored and out right sulking.

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew - you're the one who chooses." Retorted the cabbie.

"Why should I?" Asked the taller of the two. "I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?"

"I haven't told you the best bit yet." The cabbie replied proudly. "What ever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one. And then together, we take our medicine." Sherlock just smiled, finding something to enjoy in the situation. "I wont cheat. It's your choice. I'll take what ever pill you don't. Didn't expect that now, did ya Mr 'Olmes?"

"This is what you did to the rest of them, you gave them a choice?" He didn't quite believe it; it was good.

"And now I'm giving you one. Take your time." He said, as though he were waiting for a friend to make a regular decision about what to have for dinner. He gave a little wiggle. "Get yourself together. I want your best game."

"It's not a game." Sherlock corrected automatically; he hated people getting things wrong, even if they were insane killers trying to make him choose his death. "It's _chance_."

"I've played four times, I'm alive." Sherlock saw his look intensify, the telling eyes getting a little sharper behind the cabbies mild cataracts. "It's not chance, Mr 'Olmes - it's chess."

"Chance." Insisted Sherlock.

"Chess!" Shouted the cabbie, not liking to be defied. His voice dropped to a dangerously quiet tone. "With one move, and one survivor."

"And what would that one move be exactly?" Sherlock inquired in a calm voice, glad he was getting to the other man a little more.

"This."

Sherlock's icy eyes stayed trained on the bottle that the cabbie moved forward, each man having a different bottle closer to them.

"Did I just give you the good bottle, or the bad bottle? You can choose either one." The killer said.

They stared it out for a few minuets before the cabbie spoke again. "You ready yet, Mr 'Olmes? Ready to play?"

"Play what?" He drawled. "It's a 50:50 chance."

"You're not playing the numbers, you're playing me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? The good bottle, or the bad bottle? Is it a bluff? A double bluff? Or maybe even a triple bluff?"

"Stop it!" Hissed Sherlock, making the cabbie smile. "It's just _chance."_

"Four people, in a row? It's not just chance."

"Luck!" Proclaimed Sherlock.

"It's genius!" Sherlock knew it too, though he acted like he didn't, thankful for the scarf covering his throat as he swallowed his nerves. He would act as bored as he could. "I know how people think." The cabbie continued. "I know how people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my head." He seemed worried and disgusted at this fact, but the cabbie was right; the skilled were always intelligent beings, even if they didn't want to be. "Everyone's so stupid, even you." The consulting detective gave him a glare. "Or maybe God just loves me."

At his words Sherlock raised an eyebrow, letting the look sink in for a second, then leaned forward onto the table between them knotting his hands together. "Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie."

Nix threw some money down for the cabbie, scrambling out of the car as she did so. In front of her were the buildings she had seen in the bubble. A bad thought occurred to her in that moment; she hadn't seen which one they had gone in, moving on because of the DI.

Taking a deep breath, she ran into the building on the left, cursing Lestrade as she went.

"So… you risked your life four times just to kill strangers - why?" Sherlock said, focusing all his efforts and Skill on the man in front of him, starting to make out the tiniest details in his energies.

"Time to play." The cabbie said, ignoring the question.

"Oh, I am playing. It's _my_ turn." Sherlock answered, looking with Skill and the energy, and at the details in the man's person with a keen eye. "There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before so obviously you live on your own - there's no one to tell you. But a wedding ring on your finger would suggest otherwise, but I suppose we know what happened there, don't we now?" He could see the fine details in the man's energies now, the emotions in him, the fears, the insecurities, the plans; everything. He was depressed, missing several people dearly. "Sentiment; always a person's downfall, you know. You miss your wife and children, but she left, taking them with her. Can't help but still love her though, or at least what you once had. A line of dusty blue tells me that you feel misunderstood; she found out about your Skills, but didn't quite know what to do about it. She worried for the children I suppose.

"But there's more. Your clothes are clean, freshly laundered, but at least three years old - keeping up appearances, but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree - what's that all about?" Sherlock chuckled slightly, frowning in confusion, but loving the challenge.

The cabbie just stared at him, but Sherlock saw something new; a sickly pink thread, spotted with an unhealthy yellow and white. He suddenly felt a slight pity for the man. "Ahh…three years ago. Was that when they told you?"

"Told me what?" The cabbie asked, voice a little rough, answering too quickly.

"That you're a dead man walking."

"So are you." The shorted man said, reminding Sherlock of their situation.

"You don't have long though. Am I right?" Sherlock asked, wanting the confirmation.

The cabbie gave a small smile of defeat. "Aneurism. Right in 'ere." He tapped his head. "Any breath could be my last."

"And because your dying, you've just murdered four people?" Sherlock was missing something, he knew it.

"I've outlived four people." The cabbie sneered. "That's the most fun you can have with an aneurism."

Sherlock thought for a second. "Nope...no, there's something else. You didn't kill four people because your bitter - bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator." He frowned. "Somehow, this is about your children."

"Oh… you are good, aint ya?" The cabbie said.

"But how?" Demanded the deducing man.

"When I die, they wont get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"Or serial killing." Pointed out Sherlock.

"You'd be surprised." The shorter man said.

"Surprise me." Invited Sherlock.

"Got me a sponsor, Mr 'Olmes." He said proudly.

"You have a what?" _Surely that can't be right, _he thought.

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be." He explained. "You see? It's nicer than you'd think.

"Who'd sponsor a serial killer?" Sherlock asked, wondering what the answer would be, could possibly be.

"Who's be a fan of Sherlock Holmes?" Was the reply. "You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's other out there just like you, except you're just a man. And they are _so much more_ than that."

Sherlock felt the muscles in his face twitch at the thought of such a group. "What do you mean… more than a man? An organisation, what?"

"There's a name no one says. And I'm not going to say it either." The cabbie said, simply for the satisfaction of seeing Sherlock Holmes so irritated. "Now, enough chatter. Time to choose."

Nix ran through the building, glancing in every lit room to see if the men were in there, calling out for the man who she could be moving in with.

"What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here." Sherlock told the cabbie.

The cabbie just sighed heavily, raising the gun again, pointing it at the taller man's face. "You can take the 50:50 chance as you call it, or I can shoot you in the head. Funnily enough, no one's ever gone for that option." The cabbie said pleasantly enough, but Sherlock could see he was reluctant to shoot him.

"Ahh, but there's still something I'm missing here, isn't there?" Sherlock said, knowing the strands weren't quite as complete as he would like them to be.

"Oh, you are very good, Mr 'Olmes." The cabbie simply said, confirming the suspicion.

Sherlock thought for a few minuets, examining everything in front of him. It then dawned on him - the little thing he had over looked, not being to bothered about it. He chuckled.

"Got it yet?" The cabbie taunted.

"Of course." Replied Sherlock. "The pill alone isn't enough to kill me, we both know that, and the cause of death is yet to be explained. _You_ are the cause of death aren't you? Using not weapon, but _Skill_…"

"Very good, Mr 'Olmes." The cabbie said, looking a little put out. "With one little touch, your vital organs shut down, one by one, starting with the least important ones first. I've heard its quite painful." He explained, looking a little regretful at the mention of pain.

"Your wife left you, but you don't hate her for taking the kids; you love them, that's why it hurts so much to leave them, you can't even bear to look at her." Sherlock said in a low voice. He pitied the man a small amount, not being able to touch anyone, having to leave behind his wife and children. Sherlock soon pushed that aside though.

The cabbie sighed. "Well, now that's out in the open, you know how you will die - either by the bullet or a slow and painful shut down, which you have the option to sleep through - all you have to choose is what pill to take. The good one or the bad one. Your choice."

Sherlock stood, went to the end of the table, looking between the cabbie and the bottles. He moved his hand over one, then reached for the other.

"Oh! Very interesting!" The cabbie said, pleased that Sherlock had chosen, taking the remaining bottle in his aged hand, standing to face Sherlock who had moved over to the light.

Taking out the pill, Sherlock held it under the light to better see it. It was identical to the other pill. But something caught his eye.

Having faced the window, Sherlock caught sight of a door opening quickly, letting a flash of light through, allowing the consulting detective catch a flash of long black hair. He frowned slightly, putting it out of his mind again; the cleaners would be of no use.

The cabbie, standing facing Sherlock with his back to the window caught the twitch of the taller man's icy eyes, seeing him look out of the window behind him. He turned suddenly, seeing a person in the window of the opposite building, squeezing his trigger finger a moment later.

Sherlock's mind flashed in horror as a scream filled his ears,i f slightly muffled by the walls and windows. His mind flew to checking the energies of the injured person but realised with a gasp of terror that the energy had no colour, he knew it well though.

It was just a blank grey, but the energy was thrumming in pain.

It was Nix. The cabbie had shot her.


	11. Chapter 11

**A Study In Skills**

**Bullets And Bewilderment**

Nix opened a door, but before she turned away, she caught two figures through the window of the room.

Creeping into the room, she went to the window, finding it was Sherlock and the cabbie. Before she could do much else though, she felt a blinding pain in her side. She screamed out in pain, falling to the floor as she did so.

Pushing herself up on her elbows, she put a hand to the right side of her gut, about an inch below her rib, feeling the blood drip down her hand. Breathing heavily - and painfully - she ripped off her black tank top, balling it up and placing it in her teeth - this would be more painful than being shot in the first place.

She concentrated fully then on making a tennis ball sized bubble materialise from her clean palm, focusing on a healing energy that would replicate healing and growth, only incredibly quick. The only problem was that it burned fiercely, as though she had poured vinegar into the wound, sprinkling it with salt to finish it off. She had learned this last time, but right now she had no choice.

She bit down hard on the make shift rag, forcing her torso to relax, lest it only hurt more. Feeling her energy deplete a little more, she thrust the orb into the wound, feeling the agonising effects. She kept quiet though - the cabbie would think her dead, but she knew Sherlock would figure out she was alright - she hoped he would anyway.

A minute later, her wound was healed again, leaving only a white scar and drying blood on fresh skin. But she soon grimaced at her newest discovery.

As she pushed herself up off the floor, she felt a small piece of metal wriggle around in her flesh with the movement - the bullet was still in her torso. _Oh, that's going to be fun to get out_, she though sarcastically.

Pushing her dry thoughts aside, she made her way to the window of the room, making sure to keep as low as she could. She winced as she moved her arms up - both from stretching the new skin and feeling the bullet move a little around her - as she opened the window.

She took a deep breath concentrating on a bullet shaped lump of copper. Raising her palm in front of her, she saw the object take shape in a bubble of her own making. Raising her hand to be level with the now open window, she let it fly toward the cabbie, planning on missing Sherlock.

She felt a shudder of pain wrack through her as she let it go though, and saw the bullet gleam with a coat of liquid before the bubble hit the opposite, closed window. The bubble popped, but the bullet flew forwards with the speed it was moving at, breaking the window and sailing across the room. She ducked down a fraction of a second before she heard the loud cry of the cabbie being shot.

She kept low for a few more seconds, before deciding that it was time for a bit of a clean up.

She took the bin from its place by the door, filling it with a bubble of water, rinsing off her hands from her own blood, turning the water a pinkish colour. She dipped the ruined rag of a top into the water as well, using it to mop up the small traces of her blood that had spilt onto the floor. Standing up again, she realised she had no top anymore when she felt a breeze from the open window hit her skin with a chill. She buttoned up her coat to her neck, hoping no one would notice her lack of clothing, not wanting to waste time and energy making a new shirt.

Going to the open window, she saw Sherlock standing in the other building, seemingly unharmed and looking to the floor with such an angry expression that she wondered what could have happened. She shook her self out of her thoughts though, closing the window and picking up the bin on the way out. She went to one of the bathrooms, tipping the contents into a sink, then using a bubble of bleach to rinse it down. She then set fire to her top, letting it burn enough to remove any traces of evidence, then letting it drop into a toilet just before she burned her fingers, the fire going out as it hit the water. She flushed the toilet to finish off, deciding to get out of the building before they come looking for a shooter.

The cabbie smiled at Sherlock's look of terror, quickly becoming anger. "So what do you think?" He asked casually. "Shall we?"

Sherlock couldn't think properly, working on auto pilot. He could hear the cabbie talking, but he knew now that his plan had failed a little bit - his back up was gone. "You didn't have to shoot her." He said quietly.

"Probably not." The cabbie allowed. "But it hardly matters now; she'll bleed out in under a minute. So, let's continue shall we?" He waved the gun a little, reminding Sherlock once again of the situation.

He looked down to the pill in his fingers as the cabbie spoke again. "So, what do you think? Can you beat me? Are you really that clever?" Sherlock looked up at the last question. "Are you ready to bet your life?

"I bet you get bored, don't you?" The cabbie continued, Sherlock knowing it was true but not daring to admit it. He didn't quite know why. "A man like you, _so clever_. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?"

Sherlock lifted the pill slightly, wondering if it was the right thing to do, but knowing at the same time that there was no other way.

"Still the addict. But this, _this_ is what you're really addicted to, isn't it? You'll do anything, anything at all, to stop being bored."

Sherlock opened his mouth slightly, his hand shaking almost unnoticeably as he brought the pill to his lips.

The glass shattering brought him out of him trance though, instinct telling him to get down. He raised his head as the cabbie fell, seeing the bullet hole in the window, and the open window opposite it.

He looked through it, only to find a seemingly empty room. He was about to Skilfully check but a groan told him the cabbie didn't have long to live - and Sherlock still wanted to talk with him a little bit.

"Was I right? I was right, wasn't I? Did I get it right?" Sherlock demanded of the bleeding man getting no answer. He threw the pill at him. "Of course I was right." He stood up, leaning over the man. "Okay, tell me this; your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me, my fan. I want a name."

"No…"

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you." Sherlock said, focusing on the strands on the man's energy treads pulling at several, stretching them out.

The cabbie just screamed. "A name!" Sherlock shouted at him., twisting a few more, knotting a few others.

The cabbie let out a loud groan, followed by a shout. "Moriarty!" The word dying on his lips, as the man himself died on the floor.

Sherlock let the energies go, noting the way they changed to accommodate the decease of the man to which they belonged. Sherlock just echoed the final word, feeling it form on his silent lips.

A slight hissing broke him from his thoughts. Frowning, he focused on the sound, finding it was coming from the man on the floor. Upon closer inspection, the hissing was coming from the wound in the shoulder of the body.

Not resisting a new puzzle, Sherlock took out his magnifying glass, looking a little closer. He frowned at the look of it, the sight only confusing him further. Smelling the wound, trying to identify what appeared to be an acid, he smelt a very potent form of acid, smelling very close to vinegar. Sherlock just raised an eyebrow, looking back to the room in the opposite building, noting that the window was now closed.

_What the hell is going on?_


	12. Chapter 12

**A Study In Skills**

**The Bigger Brother**

Sherlock sat in the ambulance, an orange blanket around his shoulder, frowning at the newest puzzles he had been handed; what was Moriarty, and what happened with the wound to the cabbie? Where was Nix, What happened in that other building? Was she alright?

Lestrade wandered over a few minuets later, hands in his pockets.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me." Sherlock told him, reminding Lestrade of a small child.

"It's for shock." The DI explained.

"I'm not in shock!" Sherlock said, confused by the very thought. He was confused a lot tonight it seemed.

Lestrade gave him a small smile. "Yeah, but some of the guys want to take photographs."

Sherlock sighed, irritated at their antics. "So, the shooter - no sign?"

"Cleared off before we got here." Lestrade said, shaking his head. "But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him, but…we've got nothing to go on."

Sherlock took the hint. Giving Lestrade a look, he said, "Well, I wouldn't say that."

Lestrade hid his smile, sighing and taking out a note book and pen. "Alright. Gimme."

"Well, a shot like that, from any weapon would be a good shot, but not just a good shot, a marksman - hands couldn't have shaken at all. Clearly acclimatised to violence, so most likely a fighter. He didn't fire until I was in danger though, so a strong moral principle." Sherlock hadn't told them about Nix, he had no reason to give them the fact that he knew who it was, and he couldn't reveal his Skill. They were still searching the buildings, by the time they found her she would be dead or very close to it. The man felt a tug at his gut at the thought of her dying, or even hurt. He didn't understand it though, so he ignored it, even if it was persistent.

He was about to give Lestrade a full profile of the shooter when someone caught his eye across the road. It was Nix, coat done up to her chin, shaking slightly from the cold. He was so sure it was her though, and quickly looking at her with a Skilled eye, he found that it was definitely her who had been in the room. She was unharmed though. _But the scream…maybe from fear? _He thought quickly. _But the pain in her threads…_

"Sherlock?" the DI asked, catching his attention again. "What about the bullet? Going to have to have a look at that, doesn't seem like any bullet I've ever seen."

Lestrade's words were the last bit of information Sherlock had needed to figure out that it was probably Nix who had shot the cabbie. _Well, I'll be damned…_

"Actually, do you know what? Ignore me." Sherlock said.

"Sorry?"

"Ignore all of that, it's…just the shock talking." Sherlock said, hoping it would work, but deciding not to stick around to find out.

"Where you going?" Lestrade asked him as he walked away.

"Just got to talk about the rent." He muttered absently.

"I've still got questions!" The DI protested.

"Oh, what now?" Sherlock demanded turning to face the DI, a look of irritation on his face. Lestrade hated that look. "I'm in shock - look, I've got a blanket." Nix could hear the two men from her distance and found it quite entertaining to watch; like two children arguing about crayons.

"Sherlock!" The DI practically whined.

"And…" He searched around for something else to give the insistent inspector. "I just caught you a serial killer…more or less."

Lestrade looked at the man in front of him, thinking it would be easier all round to talk to him later. Sighing, he gave in. "Alright. We'll pull you in tomorrow. Off you go."

Sherlock raised his head a little at the comment, feeling like he had just been dismissed from a headmasters office. He turned and walked away though, throwing the infernal blanket in a car as he ducked under the police tape.

"Sally' s just been telling me; the two pills." Nix started casually.

Sherlock saw her eyes though; a spark of life in them, just a small one, but a spark none the less. "Good shot."

"Don't know what you mean." She replied. "But yes, must have been, going through that window and everything." She replied evasively.

"Well, you'd know" He retorted.

"Well, I was in the army Sherlock." She retorted back to him.

He just smiled. "Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but lets avoid the court case." He said, looking around the street.

"Contrary to common belief, you don't actually need a gun to shoot someone." She said in a low voice, clearing her throat slightly at the end.

He looked back down on her, eyes searching the pools of bright green on her pale face. _Paler than usual, _he noted. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course I'm alright." She replied blankly. He took it as a positive sign.

"Well, you did just kill a man." He countered.

"Yes, well, I'm hardly going to feel guilty now am I?" She asked, but soon saw the defence in his eyes. _Worried he crossed another line, _she thought, _bloody fool_. "Besides, he wasn't a very nice man was he?"

Sherlock took the way out of the slightly awkward conversation gladly. "No. No, he wasn't really, was he?"

"Bloody awful cabbie, if you ask me." She said.

Sherlock just chuckled, smiling. "That's true, he was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took to get us here." He started giggling again, Nix smiling ever so slightly at the low tones as they walked away from the lights and police officers. They reminded her of low toned classical music, but somehow upbeat at the same time.

"You can't chuckle at a crime scene." She told him quietly.

"Well, you shot him!" Sherlock said.

"Do keep your voice down, I don't particularly want to be searched." She said to him, thinking again of her lack of a shirt. Her wound tugged uncomfortably and she ground her teeth slightly when the bullet pulled a bit too much. Sherlock though, for once, didn't notice .

"Sorry." He said, not sounding like he meant it one bit.

"By the way; next time you get kidnapped, try not to let them kill you." She suggested to him lightly.

"I wasn't going to do it, of course. I was biding my time, knew you'd turn up." He said, but she saw the lie in his eyes.

She just raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a look, letting him know he was caught out. "Dinner?" He just said.

"I would love to, but I have to get back to the flat, I'm afraid." She said, walking with him down the street again.

"I know this nice little Chinese place just down the road. I can always predict the fortune cookies." He said, expecting her to give in.

"Sherlock, I really am starving but…" She trailed off, seeing a familiar figure get out of a familiar car. "That's him. The guy I was telling you about." She said.

Sherlock felt the familiar knocking in his head as he spied the man Nix pointed out. "I know exactly who that is." He said, walking over to the man. Nix stayed just behind him, not trusting the unknown man from their last meeting. She shuddered as she remembered the pain, flinching as the bullet wriggled a little more, poking her insides uncomfortably.

"So…another case cracked." The man said, Anthea standing next to him, focused on her phone just as she was before. Nix stood between them, not willing to take her eyes of either man. "How very public spirited of you. Though that's never really your motivation, is it?"

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock said, annoyed at the man's presence.

Nix looked between them, comparing the two men; how they moved, how they spoke, even their eyes. A light bulb went off in her head as she finally saw what she had been missing.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you." Said the man, though she still didn't know his name.

"Yes, I've been hearing about your concern." Replied Sherlock, ice in his tone as his gaze flickered over to Nix, though she didn't notice it. The man however, did notice.

"Always so aggressive." He said, raising an eyebrow slightly at his brothers actions. "Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough...no." Sherlock mocked him, acting like a child again.

"We have more in common than you'd like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer." He said, a seriousness in his voice that was a little unnerving to most. They were hardly the most normal of groups however. "And you know how it always upset mummy."

_Confirmation_, she thought.

"I upset her?" Sherlock seemed outraged at the thought. "Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft." He said, implication lacing his tone.

"Now, now, gentlemen." Nix jumped in, recognising the signs of a sibling argument almost immediately. "An argument will do no one any good. Besides…"She said, smirking at the umbrella holding man. "I think introductions are in order."

Both men shared a look, knowing that what ever happened they would simply deal with, no matter how much they didn't like working together. Sherlock sighed. "Phoenix Moss, meet my brother Mycroft. Mycroft, I do believe you already know Nix."

She held out a hand for him to shake, Mycroft taking it in his. "Pleasure to finally be able to put a name to the face." She said.

"Nice to see you again, my dear." He said, not looking away from her as they dropped hands. "Though I do think you should seek some form of medical attention. You don't want to get any worse now."

Sherlock just frowned at this, though decided to ask later as Nix replied. "I have the best doctor I know waiting for me at home, no need to worry."

"If you're sure." Mycroft replied, getting a sharp nod from her.

"Well, if we are done here, I want to go home." Sherlock said, making Nix look at him; he had wanted food a moment ago. "Try not to start a war before we get home Mycroft, you know what it does to the traffic." He threw his brother a scathing look, turning to walk towards the road again.

Nix just sighed at the man's behaviour, once again feeling the damned bullet in her body move with her. She offered Mycroft a hollow smile, which he returned, even if it creeped him out a little; just like his little brother though, he would never admit it. Waving to Anthea, Nix jogged after Sherlock, falling into pace with him as he approached the road, waiting for a cab to pass them by.

"So you were shot then?" He asked her quietly, not looking at her.

"When?" She asked.

"About half an hour ago." He said, getting annoyed a little at her avoidance.

"Yes, but I'll live." She said, thinking about what was waiting for her at home.

"How?"

"I fixed it. Unfortunately, I didn't have time or the tools to get the bullet out." She explained quietly, not in the mood to explain to ignorant officers.

He whirled to look at her, frowning deeply. "The bullet's still there?" He asked loudly, getting funny looks from a couple of people, as well as a slight pounding in his head. He still had the running commentary turned off, and it would stay that way for as long as he could keep it for now.

"Of course." She replied calmly, glaring slightly at him though. "But like I said, there is someone at home, waiting to fix me up properly."

Sherlock just turned back to the road, throwing up a hand to hail a cab, wondering what was waiting for him when they got back.


	13. Chapter 13

**A Study In Skills**

**Twins**

Opening the door to the living room, Sherlock hung his coat on the back of it, leaving it open to let Nix in. He made his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on, hoping they would be done soon so they could eat. However he stopped in his tracks at the sight of a man sitting at the kitchen table, cup of tea in hand, a chair pulled out next to him. As he saw Sherlock he stood up, offering his hand, putting down his cup. Sherlock just stood there, watching him.

The man was as tall as Sherlock, jet black hair, hanging down to his shoulders in thick curls, piercing blue eyes standing out amidst the mass of hair. He wore a plain black shirt, matching black slacks and a pair of black and white converse, a green camouflage coat sitting on the back of his chair. Sherlock found he recognised the features of the man though, only in a more feminine version, as well as the shade of blue in his eyes; it was the same colour as the blue gem on Nix's ring. This was her twin then, Will Moss.

Now Sherlock took his hand. "Sherlock Holmes." He introduced himself, wondering how the man got in the flat.

"William Moss, pleasure to meet you." Nix heard as she came into the living room. She felt lighter at the sound of her twin.

"And how did I know you would be waiting for me?" She drawled, turning the corner to see her brother stood in the kitchen.

"Because you know I know when bad things happen to you, including being shot - _again." _He said, sighing at his sister, motioning to the chair. She knew he meant more than being shot though, and nodded her thanks at giving her some time to get herself together again.

Before she sat at the chair however, she went to the living room, turning her back to the men as she made a tank top for herself, identical to her earlier one. Taking it from the bubble, she quickly changed. Sherlock tried to see what she was doing, but Will only coughed, glaring at him. He frowned, but then saw the shirt and Nix starting to unbutton her coat and figured what she was doing. He blushed slightly at the thought of his flatmate without a top, but quickly turned away from both twins, making himself a coffee.

Nix left her coat off after she put on a top, going to sit on the kitchen chair. "So, what happened?" Will asked, taking out his medical kit. It was a small leather case with a scalpel, two needles, thread, antibacterial wipes and a bottle of morphine all slotted into their places. Sherlock's eyes lingered on the needle and vial with a hint of longing, but he quickly shook it off.

"Serial killer." Nix said simply, getting a sigh from Will and a shake of his head, a glare on his features.

"And you did your leg for it?" He asked, having noticed her lack of a stick. Sherlock, having felt his face cool again, watched the twins interact with each other.

Nix sat a little straighter at the implication. "That was not my fault." She said, pointing over to Sherlock. "_He_ had me running all over London, for Christ's sake. _Roof jumping_." She told him, trying to get him to understand.

Will glared at Sherlock. "You took her roof jumping? On _her_ leg?" His voice was quiet, dangerously low. Nix put a hand on his, calming him slightly, but each twin was just as protective as the other of their sibling relationship - they had only had each other at one point, and they had always been close.

Sherlock just sighed irritably. "Her limp is psychosomatic, she just needed to see it."

"The limp isn't bloody psychosomatic, you idiot." Will told him, his voice raising slightly. "She was shot, repeatedly in the bloody knee cap!"

Nix cast her gaze downward at the memory, the heaviness coming back to her, the void opening up a little more once again. Sherlock saw the light leave her eyes again, and felt strangely guilty.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." He said quietly, looking at her still. He stood there for a few seconds then went to the living room, lying on the sofa and closing his eyes, still listening to the twins. They knew it too, but didn't care.

Will sighed and raised an eyebrow at his sibling; a silent sign for her to numb the area. She made a bubble and did just that, raising her top as she did so, exposing her lower torso and flat stomach, feeling only slight pins and needles from the middle of her ribs to her hip bone.

Will picked up the scalpel after putting a pair of surgical gloves on, making a clean cut across the scar on his twins flesh, catching the blood that ran down her pale skin.

"How deep?" He asked her, wanting to know how much repair they would have to do.

"Not very, a few inches at most." She replied, watching him work. It was strange to see someone perform surgery on you in your own kitchen - well soon to be yours.

Will nodded, telling her to lean backwards and keep still, working as quickly and efficiently as he could. After a while, he broke the silence.

"He's right you know." He said quietly.

"About?" She murmured, feeling nimble fingers in her guts, trying to locate the bullet.

"They're not lost." He answered, making her tense up at the subject; it was one they avoided, both knowing the true nature of what happened.

"You hope, but you know that they are, just as well as I do." She said, still talking quietly, her voice a little more hollow. Sherlock in the living room heard them though. He wondered if they were talking about her emotions. And who was the _he_ they were talking about?

"Well they are with that attitude." He snapped quietly at her. It didn't bother her, they always argued and snapped at each other before, it was just how they were.

Getting no reply, Will sighed. He wanted to talk to his twin about how she was doing, but was finding it hard to do knowing the stranger in the other room was listening. He tried a different approach. "How's things with the quack?"

She snorted in a most unladylike way, making him smile slightly at the familiar sound. "If you can tell me how to get rid of her, I will give you that tattoo you've been looking at for a while." It was a tempting offer, but he wasn't sure if it was helping or not, so he didn't want to take her up on the offer just yet. He didn't know how to get rid of the quack anyway, even if he did.

"That good eh?"

"Yep." She sighed, head falling back to face the ceiling, closing her eyes.

Half a minute later she heard Will growl in frustration, feeling the small tug in her guts as he tried to get the bullet out. It seemed he was having a bit of trouble though.

"Smaller?" She asked, but he just shook his head before she even got the whole word out.

"Its caught a little, can't make it smaller without loosing it, only bigger…" He said, looking up to meet her eyes.

She sighed. "Sherlock!" She called, Will frowning at her actions. "You probably want to see this."

Sherlock sat up at his name, then made his way to the kitchen, finding an odd scene before him; Nix sat on a chair, blood dripping down her exposed, flat stomach, Will with his hand covered in blood from what he could see, but the hand itself was half in the woman's torso wiggling slightly, Nix's face twitching at every movement.

"Sorry, Nixy." Will said, regret thick in his voice, using his childhood nickname for her. He _really _didn't want to do this. "But there ain't another way, I'm afraid."

She put her hand on the side of his neck, forcing his eyes to meet her blank ones. "It's fine, just do it." She nodded to him, getting a reluctant nod in return.

Sherlock frowned at the door way, wondering what was going to happen. Nix looked up at him, beckoning him over. "Pull up a chair, you'll want to see this, I think." She said.

Will just frowned. "Nix, _I _don't want to see this. Don't make the poor man freak out now."

Nix raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, who pulled up a chair to sit next to them both, getting g a good view of her torso. "Trust me Will. This aint your average guy."

Will just shrugged. "Want a rag or something?"

She raised a palm, making herself a thick, black rag, then placing it between her teeth. Will took out his hand, memorising the path so he could get back, taking off the bloody gloves, then putting his hand back where it was, gripping the bullet lightly. "Sure about this?" He asked, not sure about it himself.

Sherlock watched with deep interest as she put her hands behind the chair, left hand gripping the right wrist tightly. She took a breath, bit down and nodded, closing her eyes. Even with the numbing, it would still hurt like hell.

Sherlock felt his breath catch in his throat as her saw a stick of metal pierce through her torso from the inside. It came up two inches from the skin, crimson blood running down it. The consulting detectives eyes were wide as he froze in his chair, wondering if this was what was meant to happen.

Will quickly wiped off a bit of the blood at the top of the spike with a tissue, putting the used tissue on the table and gripping the tip with his fingers, now having one hand at each end of the metal spike.

Closing his eyes, Will concentrated on the object, feeling where it was exactly, focusing on changing its shape so that it morphed out of his twin, becoming a lump of metal in his hand. Feeling the change was complete, he snapped his eyes open, seeing Nix breathing heavily from the fresh wound. He took out his hand that now held nothing, wiping both hands on some tissues, putting the metal blob on the table.

"You alright?" He asked, just getting a quick nod from her. "You ready for the hard part?"

Sherlock, having seen the stab wound from the inside, then witnessing the metal literally move out of the wound into Will's hand, now wondered what on earth the hard part could be. He soon found out.

Will kept pressure on the wounds to keep them from bleeding too much as Nix collected herself for the second does of regeneration energy that evening.

She took in a few shallow breaths, not wanting to move the wounds too much and raised her palm in front of her, letting a tennis sized bubble melt out of the skin of her palm. She let it hover for a second, stalling a little, before watching it change, concentrating on pure regeneration energy to heal with.

Sherlock saw the energy within the bubble, a molten golden colour that didn't glow, but rather flowed in itself, mixing with other shades of gold and yellow; he knew what it was with out even thinking, it was just his Skill. He had never thought he would see anything like it though. He saw it move over the bleeding wounds, Will having moved his hands away, the blood flowing again. It hovered for a moment, then flew right into the wounds, the bubble bursting, the energy seeping into the skin.

Will held his twin's hands as her entire body tensed from the pain of the forced growth and healing, the agony as the skin literally knitted back together. It was over in five seconds, but she still held on to him, letting him have one hand back as he tried to pull it away to wipe up the blood sitting on top of the fresh skin. After he was done they just sat there for a moment; Nix getting her breath back, trying to push the lingering pain aside, Will taking care of his twin, and Sherlock just watching them and trying to work out what Will's Skill was.

"Brilliant..." Sherlock muttered to himself, having some sort of idea about Will and just taking the time to appreciate the Skills on display.

"You know you do that our loud, right?" Nix said, voice back to it's usual blankness, a hint of sarcasm in it.

Sherlock smirked at the familiar words, playing along. "Sorry, I'll shut up now."

"No, it's fine." She replied.

Will looked between the two of them as a ghost of a smile crossed his twins lips, Sherlock chuckling at something. Will smirked at what he saw.

It seemed his little Nixy had a bit of an admirer.

He frowned then; he'd have to have a talk with this Sherlock character.

At that moment Nix sat up, pulling her top down again. "Thanks, Will. Either if you two mind if I go for a quick shower?" She asked as she stood, knowing the Will would stay as long as he wanted.

"Staying then?" Sherlock asked, not understanding why he felt so hopeful. He deduced he wanted her to stay, but didn't quite know why.

"Of course." She said as though it were obvious, turning to go through the door way, heading to the bathroom she went to hide in earlier.

Will cleaned up the things, washing the scalpel and other things, putting it all together, deciding to clean then properly when he got home. As he did this, Sherlock went back to the sofa. A few minutes later, Will came into the living room to talk to Sherlock, sitting in one of the arm chairs.

"Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk." He started.

"About?" The man replied.

"Nix." Came the simple answer.

Sherlock turned his head to the man, wondering if he would learn anything new about his new flatmate. "Go on."

"I know what you think about her, and I know that, while I may not think it's the best life for her, it is the best option for her to move in here." Will said, causing Sherlock to frown and sit up properly, giving the man his full attention. "She seems more like her old self here. She has a bit of life in her eyes again."

"I've noticed." Sherlock said, deciding to go and sit in the chair opposite Will.

Will watched him as he moved, his gaze turning cold. "I don't know you though, and I sure as hell don't trust you, least of all with my little sister. Just know that if you hurt her, at all, I will hunt you down and make you feel so much more than what you gave out to her."

Sherlock met the gaze and replied. "I wouldn't hurt her, not intentionally anyway."

"Good, and I hope that things will be good for you. Just be careful with her; you may have seen her be the big tough woman, but she is incredibly fragile, especially now." Will said, a weight off his chest at last.

However Sherlock thought he knew where this was going and didn't want to go there; he wasn't like that. "I should tell you Will that I am married to my work, and while your twin is a very nice woman, I'm not interested in her in that way."

Will paused for a second, then broke into a grin. _The poor sod doesn't realise it yet, _he thought with glee. _Bless! _"Well, whatever your intentions are, just don't hurt her, alright?"

Sherlock could tell by Will's tone that he didn't believe him and didn't quite know how to go about convincing the man. He just frowned, going to open his mouth to say something - what exactly, he didn't quite know - but he was interrupted by Nix coming into the living room, going to sit on the arm of Will's chair. Her hair was still wet, but she had a large baggy top on now, and a pair of black combat trousers, black socks on her feet.

She looked between the two men, knowing Will was talking about her when he had said the last little comment. It had confused her quite a bit though; Sherlock didn't have any _intentions_ as far as she knew. She hoped he didn't, it would make living with him a little more difficult for her.

"Bit better?" Will asked her, giving Sherlock a last knowing look before turning to her.

"Much, thanks." She replied. "So, are you two playing nicely then?" She hoped so, Will could be a git when he wanted to be.

Her twin just gave her a look of complete innocence though and replied, "Of course." She just pushed him lightly.

"I assume that you two still don't know a thing about each other then?" She asked, knowing she would have to explain.

"On the contrary…" Sherlock started, but Nix just held up her hands to him, palms out, motioning for him to stop. He sat a little straighter at the thought of her hands able to kill a man with a bullet, leaving no trace.

"No." She told him. "_I _will explain I think." She knew Will would just hit him. She didn't miss his flinch at the sight of her palms though, feeling a little heavier than before.

"You trust him?" Will asked lowly, knowing it was a little to late for that, but still not too sure.

"With your life." She replied, looking at Will. They both knew she didn't care for much in life anymore, but her twin was one of the very few things that she would actually die for; slowly and painfully if need be.

They stared each other in the eye for a few seconds, Sherlock feeling oddly like he was imposing on a secret moment between the twins. Eventually, Will nodded, getting a single nod in return.

"Will can change things, anything. He can change it's colour, size, shape, even the substance itself." She explained to an intent Sherlock Holmes.

"Your ring." He said, remembering the small detail into her life.

Will smiled at the memory. "It used to be a Haribo ring." He said proudly at the change. They were only ten at the time, but they had loved to play with their Skills, entertaining each other for hours at a time; Nix creating something, Will changing it, then Nix would create something else to add to it, Will changing it to suit his ideas. They were a force to be reckoned with all the way from primary school through to university. Then they went their separate ways; it hurt them more than either would admit to anyone.

"And Will, Sherlock can manipulate and see energy, any energy." She looked to Sherlock. "Is that right?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, explaining his Skill in a little more detail. "Everything has energy, all different, all unique. I can see it all, and manipulate it to whatever I want."

"Interesting." Will told him. "Can I ask for an example?"

Sherlock smirked at the opportunity to show off. He focused on the energies of the room, the almost identical energies of the twins, the only different being one was grey, the other an electric blue, the same colour as the man's eyes, mixed with the odd strand of green. His smirk grew as he found the strand he wanted, forcing a surge of energy down it, the effect almost instant.

Will's eyes widened as he suddenly felt as though he could never be happier than he was in that moment; he laughed loudly, grinning form ear to ear, clutching his ribs as he tried to control his roaring laughter. After a few seconds, he was gasping for breath, eyes watering from the behaviour. It didn't stop though.

Nix jumped at the sudden movements of her twin, and she threw a suspicious look to Sherlock who was smirking at the other man. She looked back to Will, hearing him start to gasp, tears running down his face, eyes widening; she saw a flicker of panic in them though.

She felt the emotion running through her; pain, anger, fury, protectiveness, love, all of it. She didn't know what to do, and just ended up shutting down, giving herself to the sea of numbness that was always so close, so cold.

She jumped, letting her instincts take over, praying that when she surfaced that she hadn't done something she would regret. Not that she would feel it anyway.

Her instincts kicked in, and she was lost.


	14. Chapter 14

**A Study In Skills**

**Her Story**

She leaped off the chair arm, flying to Sherlock, grabbing his throat with her left hand, her right hand, drawn back, as though to punch him, but her hand was open, an orb of pure black, swirls of blood red racing through it like waiting electricity floating steadily just in front of her palm, fingers curled slightly into what could have easily been claws.

Sherlock's concentration broke as he felt himself being pinned to his chair by his throat. Hands flying up to try to break the strong grip on his skin, his eyes found a pair of bright green eyes, burning with such an intensity that a flash of fear ran through him, so much so that he dare not look away even for a second.

This meant that he didn't see the orb of energy in her hand, but his Skill picked up on it, making him more scared than he had been in a long while; it was pure and agonising pain, laced with a torturous feeling of hopelessness, crippling grief and maddening sorrow. He felt himself turn a few shades paler at the thought of such a thing.

Will felt himself become normal again, but didn't care as he saw his twin attacking the man he had only just recently met. _Not good!_

Will stood up quickly and smoothly, knowing she wouldn't hurt him and went over to her, placing a controlling and restraining hand around the wrist of her drawn back hand. "Phoenix, calm down." He said quietly to her.

Her head snapped to him, checking him over for any signs of damage as Sherlock just watched them, glad that the woman hand let go of his throat slightly.

"Let's go sit down, yeah?" Will suggested, seeing Nix come back into her self.

Nix was still quite wired from the wave of emotion that had taken over her in her brothers defence though and looked back to Sherlock, eyes still burning. Will was unsure what she would do for a moment, then she released the orb, sending it flying straight into the wall above the sofa, the wall paper singeing slightly, the colour draining into a splatter of grey remains, of which were smoking a thick black.

"Nix!" Will warned her sharply, making her come back a little more. She hadn't looked away from Sherlock, and he hadn't looked away from her, but he felt the energy ripple in the room, the temperature dropping several degrees.

Her eyes widened as she felt Sherlock's pulse pick up double time at the sudden wave of cold, fear making him react instinctually.

_You don't want to do this_, a voice whispered in the back of her mind, and she silently agreed.

Will thought she might need one final little nudge and gladly gave it. "Come on, Nix." He whispered, half meaning for her to move to the sofa, half meaning for her to return to them again.

She looked to her brother, nodded, looking away from Sherlock, releasing his neck, going to curl up on the sofa.

Will looked to Sherlock for a second. "Okay?" He mouthed, getting a slightly shaky nod from the man. Satisfied for the moment, Will went to comfort his twin, knowing she was going through a lot lately, and she didn't know what to do about it.

Sherlock just watched them as Will went to sit next to his twin, taking her in his arms. She looked so small, so fragile; Sherlock barely recognised her in that moment.

After a few minuets of rubbing her back gently, Will took a pen out of his pocket, holding it in his palm. "Hey Nixy. Take a look at this." He said, speaking like they were kids again; so carefree and innocent.

She looked up to see what he wanted to show her, watching in fascination that never got old as the pen morphed into a thick mug of hot chocolate. She took it from him, drinking deeply, sighing as she finished it all in one, the warm drink making her recently shredded insides tingle at the warmth.

It was a trick he used to do to get her to sleep, and though she caught on to it, she never complained and always followed his suggestions and instructions to drink the hot beverage, secretly laced with a strong yet undetectable sleeping draught.

Sherlock watched as the woman just curled up on the sofa, shivering slightly. Will got up, pulling a small square of fabric from his pocket, shaking it, having it change into a large heavy blanket, laying it over his now sleeping sister. Leaning down, he placed a small kiss on her forehead, and went back to sit in the chair he first sat in, leaning his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers and leaning his chin on them.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly. "I guess I should explain; she'll be out for a few hours at least."

Sherlock cleared his throat quietly. "I take it she's a little protective?" He said in a low voice.

Will just chuckled, face turning sad and tired once more. "Did she tell you what happened to her?" Sherlock just shook his head, not knowing if this was one of those things he was going regret discovering or not. Will just sighed. "Well, I'll keep it brief then, she can tell you more when she wants to, but if you're going to live together then you should know some things about Nix." Will took a few minuets to collect himself before starting his twins story, running a hand over his face and leaning back in the chair.

"She was in the army; I didn't want her to go, but it was her choice and I wasn't going to hold her back from it. She was doing well for a couple of years, then it all went down hill. She got captured." Sherlock felt his eyes widen at the information, but Will carried on, staring at the floor, remembering when he was told the news. "They said that she had been trying to save another soldier when it happened. They had her for over a month before they could get her back, but I felt it after a fortnight; she had done what we had talked about only once, promising that we would never do it. She had been in so much pain - physically, mentally and emotionally - that she just gave up. She couldn't make the final step to kill herself, but she did the next best thing at the time." Will looked up to meet the eyes of the other man. "She numbed her emotions."

Sherlock frowned deeply for a moment. "What do you mean, _numbed her emotions_?"

Will let out a heavy sigh. "Like you would a limb before surgery, she literally dulled her emotions. But she was in such bad shape, it went a bit wrong, she couldn't control it… she over did it."

"But not completely." Stated Sherlock; he had seen the fire in her eyes, he knew they weren't completely lost.

"No. Like I said, it went a bit wrong. She couldn't control it. She was left with her basic instincts; uneasiness, paranoia. She says everything else is just either a heaviness or a lack of weight on her shoulders. She kept her sarcasm for some reason; a defence mechanism, I suppose. But she also kept her fierce protectiveness over me. If anyone even so much as looks at me the wrong way, she'll go for them. She saw what you did as a form of attack and simply reacted to it, defending me." He chuckled at the thought.

"I apologise for letting it go a bit far back there." Sherlock said, looking to the floor once again. "I may know a lot of things, but emotions are not my strong point by any means, even simple happiness."

"Don't worry about it, man." Said Will, looking up to Sherlock, giving him a small smile. It was shockingly similar to when Nix had a ghost of a smile on her lips, only fuller and not so empty. "She would have gotten you a lot worse than you got me."

Sherlock shivered slightly at the memory of the energy, glancing over to the wall above the sofa. His eyes drifted slightly lower though, settling on the sleeping woman on the sofa itself, breathing deeply, barely moving.

"There's something more." Sherlock said, Will watching him closely.

"Yes." The male of the twins admitted. "Sometimes it gets too much for her, she snaps, going back to pure animal instincts, survive and don't get hurt, and if I'm there, protect. At all costs. She had an episode a few hours ago, I think. I don't know why though." He finished, searching Sherlock's eyes and features for some form of answer. He didn't find it though; Sherlock was just as protective of his brother, even if he didn't like the man.

Sherlock had met several Skilled people in his life, nearly all of them having a sibling, most of those being Skilled as well. He had found that every Skilled person was incredibly protective of their family, hurting deeply when a family member was lost. The only example of a pair of siblings that didn't play well together - though they could when needed to, united against a common enemy - was Mycroft and himself. They were hardly the norm by any means, even in the world of the Skilled.

So he dodged the topic slightly. "How are you so sure?" He asked.

Will only felt his suspicions grow, not trusting the man still. _Hiding something_, he thought warily. But he just smiled, saving them for tomorrow, when he would talk with Nix about everything. "We are twins, Mr Holmes, and Skilled twins at that. We feel the other's pain when it's severe enough, and we can easily follow the other's train of thought, most of the time subconsciously. We used to get the funniest looks from people when we finished each others sentences." He said wistfully, remembering the times when they were younger again.

They sat in silence for a while, both men lost in their various thoughts, though both minds circled the woman asleep on the sofa. They were worried for her and for what the morning would bring - though the consulting detective would never admit it, even if he did recognise the niggling feeling in his guts.

Sherlock got sick of the feeling, getting irritated with it's persistence. Sighing, he got up from his chair and went over to the door. Turning back he saw Will was watching him again.

"Feel free to take the sofa tonight, I'm sure Mrs Hudson wont mind." Sherlock told him, suddenly feeling quite tired.

Will nodded, smiling lightly, also looking tired. "Thanks, I don't particularly want to leave her alone for now." He said. Then his eyes sharpened again, smile fading away once more. "And I meant what I said, Mr Holmes. Don't hurt her, in any way. Or it will be me you deal with, you hear me?"

Sherlock just nodded solemnly. "Night, Doctor Moss."

"G'night, Mr Holmes." Will said in reply, watching the man leave the room, heading to his own.

As he heard a door shut somewhere in the flat, Will got up from his chair and went to lay on the sofa next to his twin, making the blanket large enough to cover them both. She curled up to him, automatically searching for him in her sleep. He smiled at the unconscious action, hoping it meant that she would get better one day.

He picked up the cup she had placed on the floor, morphing it to a shot glass of tasteless sleeping draught, downing it in one, feeling the effects instantly. He lay his head down, holding his broken twin in his arms as he drifted off to sleep.

_Until that day though, we'll all just have to soldier on, _he thought before sleep came for him, dragging him under into the blackness.


	15. Chapter 15

**A Study In Skills**

**Staying**

Nix woke up the next morning, knowing what must have happened the night before, though not knowing the details. She had the tell tale head ache pounding through her head, her entire body aching slightly from the after effects of the episode.

She opened her eyes to find that she was curled into a sleeping twin brother, his arm around her shoulders protectively. She would have smiled at the familiarity, but her head gave a louder thrum of pain at that moment, causing her to suppress a groan. She had to fix that soon.

She sat up carefully, trying not to wake Will up and succeeding in that aspect, however her middle gave a sharp ache as she moved, reminding her of last nights activities in more detail; the drugs bust, Sherlock leaving, the cabbie, getting shot, shooting the cabbie and coming home to find Will waiting for her. Her last memory however was of Will laughing in his chair.

Everything from then on was blank until she woke up.

She held out her palm, creating a pair of pain killers, making sure they were non-drowsy ones. Sleeping anymore would do no good to anyone. However, the small task only served to make her entire body ache more than before. She decided that she would have to not use her Skill for the day, but doubted she would be able to hold off for very long - she never could. This meant she would have to go to the kitchen to get a drink to take the medication with.

So she took a deep breath, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand, the other holding the two small pills, going to stand up. However, she found as she tried to put weight on her bad leg, it buckled, almost causing her to fall to the floor before she caught herself, leaning against the wall behind the sofa. Her fingers brushed a funny texture in what she thought was a smooth surface.

Momentarily, she forgot about the water she was meant to be getting, ignoring the protest her body gave, frowning as she found a patch of the wall; the same wall paper, only drained of all its colour, leaving a grey blotch instead, the centre a little scorched. It was cold to touch, much colder than the rest of the wall or even what she would imagine ice being; it was a piercing cold, shooting right through her fingertips, going right down to her bones. _Oh, god…_She thought in slight horror_, what the hell happened last night?_

She listened and found that someone was moving around in one of the other rooms of the flat, deducing that it must have been Sherlock as Will was on the sofa. _Well at least he's okay - hopefully._

She pushed the concerning thoughts away, the head ache coming back with a vengeful reminder, making her groan softly at the pain. She didn't wake her brother though and limped her way towards the kitchen, leaning on various surfaces as she went. Sitting at the kitchen table, she took her medicine, downing the glass of water, simply folding her arms, tucking her head into the crook of her arm, simply letting her mind rest a little more, trying to figure out what happened, though she knew she wouldn't remember. She never did.

Sherlock had gone to sleep the night before, the familiar knocking in his head as he tried to block out the annoyingly persistent voice. He knew what it would say and didn't want to hear it - any of it. So, when he woke up the next morning, he was relived to find the knocking had stopped, even if he had spent the night dreaming of the damned noise.

He got up, enjoying the silence as he showered and went back to his room, picking out a dress shirt and a clean pair of trousers for the day. As he dressed he thought about what would be awaiting him in the other rooms; possibly she would leave, Will would agree with her, then he would be back to looking for a flat mate again. And that was the least confrontational and least awkward situation he could think of; others included a repeat performance, the smashing of several objects, or even the twins tying him up and throwing him out into the street. Mycroft had always said he had an over active imagination.

Shaking away his improbable thoughts, he decided to actually find out, making his way to the kitchen, mind now on a cup of coffee. He found however, Nix sitting at the kitchen table, head on her arms, breathing steadily. He froze at the sight of her energies; they were so grey, it was almost enough to make him turn around and go back to his room. Almost.

"Morning." She said clearly, having heard him come to the door way, only to stop in his tracks. She thought he may either be uncomfortable around her, or simply scared about what she would do next. She didn't blame him. Whatever had happened, it can't have been good; the living room wall was proof enough of that.

"Good morning." He said, she could hear the wariness in his tone.

"I'm sorry for last night. I hope I didn't hurt you." She said, fully meaning what she said. He heard the hollow tone she spoke with however, somehow glad she was back to her usual self, but also missing the fire in her eyes. He still didn't know why, but knew that he looked forward to seeing it again; even if it meant that she was hurting. Then the thought of her being hurt made him uncomfortable again. He was quite confused in that moment, not knowing what he really wanted. He decided on simply finding out more information.

"Don't you remember?" He asked, sitting opposite her.

"I never do. I hope I wasn't too awful." She said, looking up at him, seeing the confusion in his eyes.

"Not too bad, no." He said with an easy smirk, lying to her face. She knew it too; she didn't appreciate it either.

"I'd rather you tell me what I did, Sherlock. It's not like I'll feel guilty over it." She said, getting up, leaning heavily on the back of her chair, then crossing to lean on the counter, limping her way to the kettle, flicking the on switch, then moving to get a couple of cups that sat in the corner. Sherlock just watched as she limped around, making drinks for the three of them, guessing Will would be awake soon. He didn't stop her or offer to help, even if she was in pain - if she had wanted to sit, she would have just stayed where she was, but she hadn't, she had wanted to do something, keep busy.

The smell of fresh coffee woke Will from his slumber. Finding that Nix was not with him, he sat up quickly, noting the noises coming from the kitchen. He saw Nix place three mugs on the table as he entered the kitchen, noting her limp was back.

Will sighed. "Where is it?" She knew what he was talking about.

"I may have thrown it into an alleyway…" She told him, sitting down to her own drink again. Will sighed and went to the living room, picking up his shot glass from the previous night and morphing it into a walking stick for his limping twin.

A few minuets after Will came back, sitting at the table, Nix broke their contemplative silence. Turning to Will, she asked, "So, what did I miss?"

Will huffed at her offhandedness to the situation, Sherlock just keeping quiet. "Induced laughing fit, strangulation of Mr Holmes, orb of pain and suffering and me drugging you to get you to sleep."

She just nodded, sipping her drink. As she placed it on the table, she looked to Sherlock again. "Sorry, Sherlock; about strangling you and about the wall."

He just shrugged lightly. "Don't worry, I've done worse to a wall and been more than strangled. Though admittedly, not in the same night."

The men caught the ghost of a smile on Nix's lips, though it was gone a second later.

Will sighed at the sight, knowing the next question would be a big one for most people. "What are you going to do now then, Nix?"

She dropped her gaze to the surface of the table, looking at the pattern in the wood, wondering the same thing. "I don't know."

Sherlock frowned at his however. "You're not staying?"

She looked up to him in what could almost be curiosity. "You'd still have me?"

"Of course." He replied, knowing what she meant, but still not really caring. A Skilled flatmate would make things interesting, and living with Nix, things would hardly ever get boring.

She seemed to become lighter then, a weight disappearing from her shoulders. "Then I guess I'm staying."


End file.
